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THE  LAND  OF  LORNE; 


OR, 


A  POET'S  ADVENTURES    IIST    THE 
SCOTTISH   HEBRIDES, 


INCLUDING 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE   "TERN"   TO  THE  OUTER   HEBRIDES. 


BY 

ROBERT   BUCHANAN. 


T^VO     'VOLXJTvlKS    IN"    ONK, 


NEW    YORK: 
FRANCIS  B.  FELT  &  CO.,  91  MERCER  STREET. 

1871. 


S^ 


TO 

f  fr  gogal  fiigbrngs 
THE  PRINCESS  LOUISE 

THESE   PICTUEES   OF   HER   FUTURE   HOME 

IN    THE    HEBRIDES 

ARE 

(■WITH   HER   ROYAL    HIGHNESS*    EXPRESS   PERMISSION^ 

INSCRIBED, 

ON  THE   OCCASION   OF   HER   JIARRIAGE, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 
January,  1871.  % 


m 


THE  LAI^D  OF  LORIO:. 


"  A  LAND  of  rainbows  spanning  glens  wliose  walls. 
Rock-built,  are  hung  with  many-colored  mists  ; 
Of  far-stretched  meres,  whose  salt  flood  never  rests- 
Of  tuneful  caves  and  playful  waterfalls — 
Of  mountains  varying  momently  their  crests. 
Proud  be  this  land !  whose  poorest  huts  are  halls 
Where  Fancy  entertains  becoming  guests. 
While  native  song  the  heroic  past  recalls." 

Wordsworth, 


PREFATORY   JNOTE. 


A  SMALL  portion  of  the  "  Cruise  of  the  Tern  "  has 
appeared  in  print  before,  though  in  a  very  imperfect 
shape ;  all  the  rest  of  the  present  work  is  now  pub- 
lished for  the  first  time.  The  pictures  of  life  and 
scenery,  such  as  they  are,  speak  for  themselves,  and 
appeal  more  or  less  to  everybody ;  but  the  narrative 
of  the  Tern's  cruise  may  have  a  special  interest  for 
yachtsmen,  as  showing  what  a  very  small  craft  can 
do  with  proper  management.  The  Tern,  I  believe, 
was  the  smallest  craft  of  the  kind  that  ever  ventured 
round  the  point  of  Ardnamurchan,  and  thence  to 
Ultima  Thule,  or  the  Outer  Hebrides ;  but  there  is 
no  reason  whatever  why  other  tiny  yachts   should 


8  PREFATOEY  NOTE. 

not  follow  Bilit,  and  venture  out  to  the  wilds.     To 

any  sportsman  desirous  of  such  an  expedition,  and 

able  to  stand  rough  accommodation  and  wild  weather, 

I  can  promise  glorious  amusement,  just  faintly  spiced 

with   a  delightful  sense  of  danger,  sometimes  more 

fanciful   than  real,  frequently  much  more  real  than 

fanciful. 

K.  B. 


COl^TEl^TS. 

PICTURES  OF  LORNE  AND  THE  ISLES. 


CHAPTER  I. 


TTRST   GLIMPSE   OF   IiORNE. 

TAOM. 

The  "White  House  on  the  Hill — The  Land  of  Lome — First  Impres- 
sions of  Oban — The  Celtic  Workmen — Maclean,  Mactavish,  and 
Duncan  of  the  Pipes — The  Lords  of  Lome  and  their  Descendants^ 
Battle  between  Bruce  and  John  of  Lome — Dunollie  Castle — Glori- 
fication of  Mist  and  Bain — An  Autumn  Afternoon — Old  Castles  — 
Dunstafihage, 17 


CHAPTER  n. 

PICTtJBES     IKIiAND. 

The  Seasons — Cuckoos  —  Bummer  Days — Autumn — Winter — Moor- 
land Lochs — The  Fir  Wood — The  Moors  and  the  Sea — Farm-houses 
and  Ci'ofters"  Huts— Traces  of  former  Cultivation  on  the  Hills — The 
Ruined  Saeters — Graveyard  at  Dunstafifnage — The  Island  of  Inis- 
haJl,       .  40 


10  CONTENTS. 

CHAl^TER  IIL 

THE   HEAKT   OF   LORNE. 

PAOE. 

Loch  Awe  and  its  Ancient  Legend— Summer  Days  on  the  Lake — The 
Legend  of  Fraoch  Elian— Kilchurn  Castle— Effects  of  Moonhght 
and  of  Storm— View  from  Glenara— The  Pools  of  Cladich— Duncan 
Ban  of  the  Songs— His  Coire  Cheathaich— His  Mairi  Ban  Og,  and 
Last  Adieu  to  the  Hills— Songs  of  the  Cliildren  of  the  Mist — The 
Pass  of  Awe — The  Ascent  of  Ben  Cruachan, 53 

CHAPTER   rV. 

SPORTS    ON   THE   MOORS   AND   LOCHS. 

Grouse  and  Black-gamo  Shooting — A  September  Day  on  the  Moors — 
The  Grouso-Shooter—Peat-Bogs— Arrival  of  Snipe  and  Woodcock- 
Mountain  Lochs  and  other  Haunts  of  Wild  Fowl— False  and  True 
Sportsmen,    .        • 79 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE   FIRTH    OP   LORNE. 

The  Ocean  Queen,  or  Coffin — Shon  Macnab's  Race  with  "the  Barber" 
— Lachlan  FinUy — From  Crinan  to  the  Dorus  Mhor— Hebridcan 
Tides— Scarba — The  Gulf  of  Corrj'vreckan — Its  Horrors  and  Perils 
— Luing  and  the  Small  Isles — The  Open  Firth — Easdale  and  its 
Quarriers — Tombs  at  the  Door — Miseries  of  Calm — Gylon  Castle  and 
the  Island  of  Kerrera— King  Haco's  Invasion  of  the  Hebrides— A 
Puff  from  the  Southeast — The  Island  of  Mull — Johnson  and  Bos- 
well  in  the  Hebrides- ARun  to  Tobermorj- — Loch  Sunart— A  Rainy 
Day— Ardtoraish  Castle— Anchored  between  Wind  and  Tide — 
Night  on  the  Firth— Troubles  of  Darkness— Farewell  to  the  Ocean 
Queen — Arrival  of  the  Tern 89 


CONTENTS.  H 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE    "TKItN's"    FIBST   FLIGHT. 

PAOE. 

Tbo  Tern  Afloat— Off  Ardnamm-chan — First  Glimpses  of  the  Isles — 
The  Cuchullin  Hills— General  Eeflections— Flashing  Forward— The 
Partv  on  Board— The  Scaur  of  Eig— Rum— Birds  of  the  Ocean- 
Muck— Sunset  on  the  Waters— Loch  Scrcsort,  Rum— The  Gaelic 
Skipper— The  Widow— A  Climb  among  the  Peaks— View  of  the 
Western  Ocean  from  Rum — The  Tei'ii.  Weighing  Anchor — Kilmory 
Bay— First  View  of  Cauua — At  Anchor, 121 


CHAPTER  YTL 


CANNA   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 


The  Laird  of  Canna— His  Kingly  Power— Prosperity  of  the  State — 
The  Island— The  Old  Tower— Canna  in  Storm  and  in  Cahn— The 
Milking— Twilight— A  Poem  by  David  Gray— Hauntg  of  the  Ocean 
Birds— Whispers  from  the  Sea— The  Canna  People— The  Quiet  Life 
— The  Graveyard  on  the  Hill-side, 139 


CHAPTER  VIIL 
EiKADH  OF  Canna, '        ...  155 


i 


12  CONTENTS. 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  "TERN." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


NIGHT    ON    THE    MINCH, 

TAQB. 

Gloomy  Prophecies — Terrors  of  tlic  Jlincli — The  Vildng — Hamish 
Shaw,  the  Pilot — Leaving  Canna  Harbor — Pictures  of  Skye  and 
the  Cnchiillins — Remarks  on  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  his  Poems — 
Afloat  on  the  Minch — the  I'ar-olf  Isles — Twilight — Ilamish  Shaw 
at  the  Helm — Summer  Night — Talk  about  Ghosts  and  Supersti- 
tions—The Evil  Eye— The  Death-Cry— Wind  Rising— Wind  and 
Mist — Water  Snakes — Midnight — The  Strange  Ship — Peep  o'  Day — 
The  Red  Buoy — Anchorage  in  Loch  Boisdale,    .  ...  189 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  FISHERS  OF  THE  LONG  ISLAND. 

Loch  Boisdale — The  Tern  at  Anchor — The  Inn  and  the  Population — 
Rain — Boisdale  in  the  Herring  Season — Fishing-boats  and  Camps 
— A  Niglit  in  a  West-Country  Smack— Herring-gutters — Habits  of 
East-Country  Fishermen, 210 


CON-JENl-S.  13 


CHAPTER  XI. 

GlilMPSES   OF  THE    OUTER   HEBRIDES. 

PAGB. 
First  GlimpH«> — Ttie  Uista  and  Benbccula— Tlieir  Miserable  Aspects 

— Hamish  Bhaw — Solemnity  of  the  People — Brighter  Glimpses— 
The  Western  Coast  of  the  Island — Winter  Storm — The  Sound  of 
Harris — The  Norwegian  Skipper — The  Fjords — Kelp-burners — View 
fi'om  Kenneth  Hill,  Loch  Boisdalc — A  Sunset — The  Lagoons — 
Characteristics  of  the  People — Civilized  and  Uncivilized — Miserable 
Dwellings — Comfortable  Attire — Their  Superstitions  and  Deep  Spir- 
itual Life, 229 


CHAPTEK  Xn. 


SPORT  IN   THE   \VTIiDS, 


The  Sportsmen  and  their  Dogs — The  Hunter's  Badge — ^The  Weap- 
ons— Shooting  in  the  Fjords — Eiders,  Cormorants,  Curlews — Duck- 
shooting  near  Loch  Boisdale — The  Tbvi  at  Anchor  in  Loch  lluport 
— Stai-vation — Wild-Goose  Shooting  on  Loch  Bee — The  Shepherd's 
Gilts — Goose  Shooting  on  Loch  Phlogibeg — The  Melancholy  Loch 
— Breeding  Places  of  the  Wild  Fowl — Eain-Storm—"  Bonnie  Kil- 
tncay" — Short  Rations — The  Passing  Ship — Red  Door,  Salmon,  and 
Eagles — Corbies  and  Ravens — Seal  Shooting  in  the  Maddy  Fjords 
— lit^tlection  on  Wild  Sports  in  General, 25^ 


14  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

COASTING  SKYE. 

PAGE. 

Effects  of  Cruising  on  Yacht  and  Yoyagers— Recrossiug  the  Minch— 
Northwest  Coast  of  Skye— Becalmed  off  Loch  Snizort— Midnight — 
Lights  of  Heaven  and  Ocean — Dawn— Columns  of  the  North  Coast 
— The  Quirang — Scenery  of  the  Northeast  Coast — The  Stonn — 
Portree  Harbor, 291 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  SAGA   OF   HACO   THE  KING. 

I. — KING   ALEXANDER'S    DREAM   AND   DEATH, 
II. — KING   HACO  GATHERS  HIS   HOST,     . 
III. — SAILING   OP   THE   GREAT   FLEET,     . 
IV. — KING   HACO'S   SAILING   SOUTHWARD, 


306 
303 
310 
312 


V. — THE  king's  FLEET  MEETS  WITH   A  GREAT   STORM,       .     314 

VI. — THE   BATTLE   OP  LARGS, 316 

VII. — KING   HACO   SAILS   NORTHWARD, 319 

VIII. — KING   HACO'S   SICKNESS, 322 

IX. — KING   HACO'S   DEATH   AND   BURIAL,  .  .  .  .324 

CHAPTER  XV. 

GLEN   SLIGACHAN   AND   THE   CUCHULLINS. 

Sconser  and  Shgachan — Party  and  Guide — Dawn  on  the  Cuchulhns — 
Scuir-na-Gilleau— A  Rhapsody  on  Geology— Fire  and  Ico— The 
Path  along  the  Glen— Hart-o'-Corry— Ben  Blaven— A  Monologue 
on  Ossian — Schneider  and  the  Red  Deer — First  Glimpse  of  the 
"Corryofthe  Water"— LochanDhu 327 


CONTENTS.  15 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

COKKUISK  ;    OIJ,    THE   COKKY   OF  THE  WATEK. 

PAGE. 

Tho  Lone  Water — The  Region  of  Twiliglit — Blocs  Pe?-c/ies— Hamish 
Shaw's  Views — The  Cavo  of  the  Ghost — Tho  Dunvegan  Pilot's 
Story— Echoes,  Mists  and  Shadows— Squalls  in  Loch  Scavaig- 
A  Highlander's  Ideas  of  Beauty — Camping  out  in  tho  Corry — A 
Stormy  Dawn— The  Fishermen  and  the  Strange  Harbor — Loch 
Scavaig — Tho  Spar  Cave — Camasunary, 354 

CHAPTER  XVIL 

Epilogue;  The  "Tebn's"  Lasx  Fliohx, 382 


THE  LAND  OF  LORNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FIRST    GLIMPSE    OF    LORNE. 

The  Wliite  House  on  the  Hill — The  Land  of  Lome — First  Impressions  of 
Oban — The  Celtic  Workmen — Maclean,  Mactavish,  and  Duncan  of  the 
Pipes — The  Lords  of  Lome  and  their  Descondants — Battle  between 
Briico  and  John  of  Lome — Dunollie  Castle — Glorification  of  Mist  and 
Rain — An  Autumn  Afternoon — Old  Castles — Dunstaffnage. 

When  the  Wanderer  (as  the  writer  purposes  to  call 
himself  in  these  pages,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  perk- 
ish  and  impertinent  iirst  person  singular)  first  came 
to  dwell  in  Lome,  and  roamed,  as  is  his  wont,  up  hill 
and  down  dale  from  dawn  to  sunset,  he  soon  grew 
weary  of  a  landscape  which  seemed  tame  and  color- 
less, of  hills  that,  with  one  or  two  magnificent  excep- 
tions, seemed  cold  and  unpicturesque.  It  was  the 
springtime,  moreover,  and  such  a  springtime  !  Day 
after  day  the  rain  descended,  sometimes  in  a  dreary 
"  smurr,"  at  others  in  a  moaning  torrent,  and  when  the 
clouds  did  part,  the  sun  looked  through  with  a  dismal 
and  fitful  stare,  like  a  face  swollen  with  weeping. 
The  conies  were  frisking  everywhere,  fancying  it  al- 
ways twilight.  The  mountain  loch  overflowed  its 
banks,  while  far  beneath  the  surface  the  buds  of  the 


4 


18  THE    LAND    OF    LOllNE. 

yellow  lily  were  wildly  struggliniij  upward,  and  the 
overfed  burns  roared  day  and  night.  Wherever  one 
went,  the  fanner  scowled,  and  the  gamekeeper  shook 
his  head.  Lome  seemed  as  weary  as  the  Uists,  loeary 
but  not  eerie^  and  so  without  f^iscination.  In  a  kind 
of  dovecote  perched  on  a  hill,  far  from  human  habita- 
tion, the  Wanderer  dwelt  and  watched,  while  the 
gloomy  gillie  came  and  went,  and  the  dogs  howled 
from  the  rain-drenched  kennel.  The  weasel  bred  at 
the  very  door,  in  some  obscure  corner  of  a  drain,  and 
the  young  weasels  used  to  come  fearlessly  out  on 
Sunday  morning  and  play  in  the  rain.  Two  hundred 
yards  above  the  house  was  a  mountain  tarn,  on  the 
shores  of  which  a  desolate  couple  of  teal  were  trying 
hard  to  hatch  a  brood  ;  and  all  around  the  miserable 
grouse  and  grayhens  were  sitting  like  stones,  drenched 
on  their  eggs,  hoping  against  hope.  In  the  far  dis- 
tance, over  a  dreary  sweep  of  marshes  and  pools,  lay 
the  little  town  of  Oban,  looking,  when  the  mists 
cleared  away  a  little,  exactly  like  the  wood-cuts  of  the 
Gity  of  Destruction  in  popular  editions  of  the  "  Pil- 
grim's Progress."  Now  and  then,  too,  the  figure  of  a 
certain  genial  Edinburgh  Professor,  with  long  white 
hair  and  flowing  plaid,  might  be  seen  toiling  upward 
to  Doubting  Castle,  exactly  like  Christian  on  his  pil- 
grimage, but  carrying,  instead  of  a  bundle  on  his 
back,  the  whole  of  Homer's  hexameters  in  his  brain, 
set  to  such  popular  tunes  as  "John  Brown,"  and  "  Are 
ye  sleepin',  Maggie?"  Few  others  had  courage  to 
climb  so  high,  in  weather  so  inclement ;  and,  won- 
derful to  add,  the  professor  did  not  in  the  least  share 
the  new-comer's  melancholy,  but   roundly  vowed  in 


FIIIBT    GLIMPSE    OF   LOllNE.  10 

good  Doric  that  there  was  no  sweeter  spot  in  all   the 
world  than  tlie  "  bonnie  land  of  Lome." 

The  AVanderer  was  for  a  time  skeptical ;  but,  as 
the  days  lengthened,  and  his  eyes  accommodated 
themselves  to  the  new  prospect,  his  skepticism 
changed  into  faith,  his  faith  into  enthusiasm,  his 
enthusiasm  into  perfect  love  and  passionate  enjoy- 
ment. 

The  truth  is,  that  Lome,  even  in  the  summer  sea- 
son, does  not  captivate  at  first  sight,  does  not  galvanize 
the  senses  with  beauty  and  brightly  stimulate  the 
imagination.  Glencoe  lies  beyond  it,  and  Morven 
just  skirts  it,  and  the  only  great  mountain  is  Crua- 
clian.  There  is  no  portion  of  the  landscape  which 
may  be  described  as  "  grand,"  in  the  same  sense  that 
Glen  Sligachan  and  Glencoe  are  grand ;  no  sheet  of 
water  solemnly  beautiful  as  Corruisk  ;  no  strange 
laajoons  like  those  of  the  sea-surrounded  Uist  and 
Benbecula ;  for  Lome  is  fair  and  gentle,  a  green  pas- 
toral land,  where  the  sheep  bleat  from  a  thousand 
hills,  and  the  gray  homestead  stands  in  the  midst  of 
its  own  green  fields,  and  the  snug  macadamized  roads 
ramify  in  all  directions  to  and  from  the  tiny  capital 
on  the  seaside,  with  the  country  carts  bearing  produce, 
the  drouthy  farmer  trotting  home  at  all  hours  on  his 
sure-footed  nag,  and  the  stage-coach,  swift  and  gay, 
wakening  up  the  echoes  in  summer-time  with  the 
guard's  cheery  horn.  There  is  greenness  everywhere, 
even  where  the  scenery  is  most  wild — fine  slopes  ot 
pasture  alternating  with  the  heather  ;  and,  though 
want  and  squalor  and  uncleanness  are  to  be  found 
here,  as  in  all  other  parts  of  the  Highlands,  comfort- 


i 


20  THE  LAND  OF  LORNE. 

able   houses  abound.     Standing  on  one  of  tlie  high 
hills  above  Oban,  you  see  unfolded  before  you,  as  in 
a  map,  the  whole  of  Lome  proper,  with   Ben  Crua- 
chan  in  the  far  distance,  closing  the  scene  to  the  east- 
ward, towering  over  the  whole  prospect  in  supreme 
height  and  beauty,  and  cutting  the  gray  sky  with  his 
two  red  and  rocky  cones.     At  his  feet,  but  invisible 
to  you,  sleeps  Loch  Awe,  a  mighty  fresh-water  lake, 
communicating,  through  a  turbulent  river,  with  the 
sea.      Looking    northward,   taking   the    beautifully- 
wooded  promontory  of  Dunollie  for  a  foreground,  you 
behold  the  great  firth  of  Lome,  with  the  green  flat 
island  of  Lismore  extended  at  the  feet  of  the  moun- 
tain region  of  JMorven,  and  the  waters  creeping   in- 
land, southward  of  the  Glencoe  range,  to  forai,  first, 
the  long,  narrow  arm  of  Loch  Etive,  which  stretches 
many  miles  inland  close  past  the   base  of  Cruachan  ; 
and,  second,  the  winding  basin  of  Loch  Crei*an,  which 
separates  Lome  from  Glencoe.     Yonder,  to  the  west, 
straight   across   the   firth,  lies   Mull,  separated  from 
Morven  by  its  gloomy  Sound.     Southward,  the  view 
is  closed  by  a  range  of  unshapely  hills,  very  green  in 
color  and  unpicturosque  in  form,  at  the  feet  of  which, 
but  invisible,  is  Loch  Feochan,  another  arm  of  the 
sea,  and  beyond  the  mouth  of  this  loch  stretches  the 
seaboard,  with  numberless  outlying  islets,  as  far  as 
the  lightliouse  of  Easdale  and  the   island    of  Scar- 
ba.     Between  the  landmarks  thus  slightly  indicated 
stretches  the   district  of  Lome,  some   forty  miles  in 
length    and    fifteen   in  breadth;  and,  seen    in   clear, 
brifht  weather,  free  from  the  shadow  of  the  rain-cloud, 
its  innumerable  green  slopes  and  cultivated  hollows 


FIRST  GLIMPSE  OF  LORN^.  21 

oetoken  at  a  glance  its  peaceful  character.  Tliere  is, 
we  repeat,  greenness  everywhere,  save  on  the  tops  of 
the  highest  hills — greenness  in  the  valleys  and  on  the 
hillsides — greenness  of  emerald  brightness  on  the 
edges  of  the  sea — greenness  on  the  misty  marshes. 
The  purple  heather  is  plentiful,  too,  its  deep  tints 
glorifying  the  scene  from  its  pastoral  monotony,  ])ut 
seldom  tyrannizing  over  the  landscape.  Abundant, 
also,  are  the  signs  of  temporal  prosperity — the  wreaths 
of  smoke  arising  everywhere  from  humble  dwellings ; 
the  sheep  and  cattle  crying  on  the  hills  ;  the  fishing- 
boats  and  trading- vessels  scattered  on  the  firth ;  the 
flocks  of  cattle  and  horses  being  driven  on  set  days  to 
the  grass-market  at  Oban. 

This  same  town  of  Oban,  prettily  situated  along 
the  skirts  of  a  pleasant  bay,  and  boasting  a  resident 
population  of  some  two  thousand  inhabitants,  has  been 
fitly  enough  designated  the  "  key  of  the  Highlands ;" 
since,  from  its  quaint  quay,  composed  of  the  hulk  of 
an  old  wreck,  the  splendid  fleet  of  Highland  steamers 
start  for  all  parts  of  the  western  coast  and  adjacent 
islands.  In  summer-time  a  few  visitors  occupy  the 
neat  villas  which  ornament  the  western  slopes  above 
the  town,  and  innumerable  tourists,  ever  coming  and 
going  to  the  shai-p  ringing  of  the  steamboat  bell,  lend 
quite  a  festive  appearance  to  the  little  main  street. 
As  a  tourist,  the  Wanderer  first  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Oban  and  its  people,  and  resided  among 
them  for  some  weeks,  during  which  time  there  was  a 
general  conspiracy  on  the  part  of  everybody  to  reduce 
him  to  bankruptcy;  extortionate  boatmen,  grasping 
small   tradesmen,   greedy   car-drivel's,    all   regarding 


22 


,THE    LAND    OF   LOKNE. 


him    as   a   lawful  victim.     He  was  lonely,  and   the 
gentle  people  toolv  him  in  ;  he  was  helpless,  and  they 
did  for  him ;  until  at  last   he  fled,  vowing  never  to 
visit   the  place  again.     Fate,  stronger   than  human 
will,  interposed,  and   he   became  the   tenant  of  the 
White  House  on  the  Hill.     He  arrived  in  the  fallow 
season,  before  the  swift  boats  begin  to  bring   their 
stock  of  festive  travelers,  and  found  Oban  plunged  in 
funereal  gloom — the  tradesmen  melancholy,  the  boat- 
men sad  and  unsuspicious,  the  hotel-waiters  depressed 
and  servile,  instead  of  brisk  and  patronizing.     The 
grand  waiter  at  the  Great  Western  Hotel,  one  whom 
to  see  was  to  reverence,  whose  faintest  smile  was  an 
honor,  and  who  conferred  a  life-long  obligation  when 
he  condescended  to  pour  out  your   champagne,  still 
lingered  in  the  south,  and  the  lesser  waiters  of  the 
lesser  hotels  lingered  afar  with  the  great  man.     All 
was  sad  and  weary,  and,  at  first,  all  looks  were  cold. 
But  speedily  the  Wanderer  discovered  that  the  peo- 
ple  of  Oban  regarded  him  with  grateful  affection. 
He  was  the  firet  man  who,  for  no  other  reason  than 
sheer  love  of  silence  and  picturesqueness,  had  come  to 
reside  among  them  "  out  of  the  season."     In  a  few 
weeks,  he  not  only  discovered  that  the  extortioners 
of  his  former  visit  were  no  such  harpies  after  all,  but 
poor  devils,  anxious  to  get  hay  while  the  sun   shone. 
He    found    that   these    same   extortioners  were  the 
merest  scum  of  the   town,  the  veriest  froth,  under- 
neath which  there  existed  the  sediment  of  the  real 
population,   which,  for  many  mysterious  reasons,  no 
mere  tourist  is  ever  suffered   to  behold.     He  found 
around  him  most  of  the  Highland  virtues — gentleness,. 


FIRST  GLIMPGE  OF  LOllNE.  23 


• 


hospitality,  spirituality.  No  hand  was  stretched  out 
to  rob  him  now.  Wherever  he  went  there  was  a  kind 
word  from  the  men,  and  a  courtesy  from  the  women. 
The  poor  pale  faces  brightened,  and  he  saw  the  sweet 
spirit  looking  forth  with  that  deep  inner  hunger  which 
is  ever  marked  on  the  Celtic  physiognomy.  Every 
day  deepened  his  interest  and  increased  his  satisfac- 
tion, lie  knew  now  that  he  had  come  to  a  place 
where  life  ran  fresh,  and  simple,  and,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent, unpolluted. 

Not  to  make  the  picture  tender,  let  him  add  that 
he  soon  discovered  for  himself — what  every  one  else 
discovers,  sooner  or  later — that  the  majority  of  the 
town  population  was  hopelessly  lazy.  There  was  no 
surplus  energy  anywhere,  but  there  were  some  individ- 
uals who,  for  sheer  unhesitating,  imblushing,  whole- 
sale indolence,  were  certainly  unapproachable  on  this 
side  of  Jamaica.  It  so  happened  that  the  Wanderer 
wanted  a  new  wing  added  to  tlie  White  House,  and 
it  was  arranged  with  a  "  contractor,"  one  Angus 
Maclean,  that  it  should  be  erected  at  a  trifling  ex- 
pense within  three  weeks.  A  week  passed,  during 
which  Angus  Maclean  occupied  himself  in  abstruse 
meditation,  coming  two  or  three  times  to  the  spot, 
dreamily  chewing  stalks  of  grass,  and  measuring  im- 
aginary walls  with  a  rule.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  one 
morning,  a  load  of  stones  was  deposited  at  the  door, 
and  the  workmen  arrived — ^men  of  all  ages  and  all 
temperaments,  from  the  clean,  methodic  mason  to  the 
wild,  hirsute  hodsman.  In  other  parts  of  the  world 
houses  are  built  silently,  not  so  in  Lome  ;  the  babble 
of  Gaelic  was  incessant.     The  work  crept  on,  surely 


24  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

if  slowly,  relieved  by  intervals  of  Gaelic  melody  and 
political  debate,  during  which  all  labor  ceased.  An- 
gus Maclean  came  and  went,  and,  of  course,  it  was 
sometimes  necessary  to  advise  with  him  as  to  details  ; 
and  great  was  his  delight  whenever  he  could  beguile 
the  Wanderer  into  a  discussion  as  to  the  shape  of  a 
window  or  the  size  of  a  door,  for  the  conversation  w;is 
sure  to  drift  into  general  topics,  such  as  the  Irish 
Land  question  or  the  literature  of  the  Highlands,  and 
the  laborers  would  suspend  their  toil  and  cluster 
round  to  listen  while  Angus  ex])lained  his  "  views." 
In  a  little  more  than  a  month,  the  masonry  was  com- 
pleted, and  the  carpenter's  assistance  necessary.  A 
week  passed,  and  no  carpenter  came.  Summoned  to 
council,  Angus  Maclean  explained  that  the  carpenter 
would  be  up  "  the  first  thing  in  the  morning."  Two 
days  afterward,  he  did  appear,  and  it  was  at  once  ap- 
parent that,  compared  with  him,  all  the  other  inhabit- 
ants of  Oban  were  models  of  human  energy.  With 
him  came  a  lazy  boy,  with  sleep-dust  in  his  round 
blobs  of  eyes.  The  caqjenter's  name  was  Donald 
Mactavish — "  a  fine  man,"  as  the  contractor  explained, 
"  tho'  he  takes  a  drap."  The  first  day,  Donald  Mac- 
tavish smoked  half  a  dozen  pipes,  and  sawed  a  board. 
The  next  day,  he  didn't  appear — "  it  was  that  showery, 
and  I  was  afraid  of  catching  the  cold ;"  but  the  lazy 
boy  came  up,  and  went  to  sleep  in  the  unfinished 
wing.  The  third  day,  Donald  appeared  at  noon, 
looking  very  pale  and  shaky.  Thus  matters  proceed- 
ed. Sometimes  a  fair  day's  work  was  secured,  and 
Donald  was  so  triumphant  at  his  own  energy  that  he 
disappeared  the  following  morning  altogether.     Some 


FIRST    GLIMPSE    OF    LORNE.  25 

times  Donald  was  unwell;  sometimes  it  was  "o'er 
showery  "  Teai*s  and  entreaties  made  no  impression 
on  Mactavish,  and  he  took  his  own  time.  Then  the 
slater  appeared,  with  a  somewhat  brisker  stylo  of 
workmanship.  Finally,  a  moody  plasterer  strolled 
that  way,  and  promised  to  whitewash  the  walls  "  when 
he  came  back  frae  Mull,"  whither  he  was  going  on 
business.  To  cut  a  long  story  short,  the  new  wing  to 
the  White  House  was  complete  in  three  months, 
whereas  the  same  number  of  hands  miccht  have  fin- 
ished  it  with  perfect  ease  in  a  fortnight. 

Thus  far,  we  have  given  only  the  dark  side  of  the 
picture.  Turning  to  the  bright  side,  we  herewith  re- 
cord our  vow  that,  whenever  we  build  again,  we  will 
seek  the  aid  of  those  same  workmen  from  Lome.  Why, 
the  Wanderer  has  all  his  life  lived  among  wise  men, 
or  men  who  deemed  themselves  wise,  among  great 
book-makers,  among  brilliant  minstrels,  but  for  sheer 
unmitigated  enjoyment,  give  him  the  talk  of  those 
Celts — ^flaming  radicals  every  one  of  them,  so  radical, 
forsooth,  as  to  have  about  equal  belief  in  Mr.  Glad- 
stone and  Mr.  Disraeli.  They  had  their  own  notions 
of  freedom,  political  and  social.  "Sell  my  vote?" 
quoth  Angus ;  "  to  be  sure,  I'd  sell  my  vote !"  And  he 
would  thereupon  most  fiercely  expound  his  convic- 
tions, and  give  as  good  a  reason  for  not  voting  at  all 
as  the  best  of  those  clever  gentlemen  who  laugh  at 
political  representation.  At  heart,  too,  Angus  was  a 
Fenian,  though  not  in  the  bad  and  bloodthirsty  sense. 
Donald  Mactavish,  on  the  other  hand,  was  of  a  gentle 
nature,  inclined  to  acquiesce  in  all  himian  arrange- 
ment, 80  long  as  he  got  his  pipe  and  his  glass,  and  was 
■1 


26  THE   LAND   OF   LOBNE. 

not  hurried  al>out  his  work.  With  playful  humor,  he 
would  "  draw  out"  the  fiery  Angus  for  the  Wanderer's 
benefit.  Then  the  two  would  come  suddenly  to  war 
about  the  relative  merits  of  certain  obscure  Gaelic 
poets,  and  would  rain  quotations  at  each  other  until 
they  grew  hoarse.  They  had  both  the  profoundest 
contempt  for  English  literature  and  the  English  lan- 
guage, as  compared  with  their  beloved  G-aelic.  They 
were  both  full  of  old  legends  and  quaint  Highland 
stories.  The  workmen,  too,  were  in  their  own  way  as 
interesting — ^fine  natural  bits  of  humanity,  full  of  in- 
telligence and  quiet  affection  Noteworthy  among 
them  was  old  Duncan  Campbell,  who  had  in  his 
younger  days  been  piper  in  a  Highland  regiment,  and 
who  now,  advanced  in  years,  worked  hard  all  day  as 
a  hodsman,  and  nightly — clean,  washed,  and  shaven — 
played  to  him.=;elf  on  the  beloved  pipes,  till  over- 
powered with  sleep.  Duncan  was  simply  delicious. 
More  than  once  he  brought  up  the  pipes  and  played 
on  the  hillsides,  while  the  workmen  danced.  These 
pipes  were  more  to  him  than  bread  and  meat.  As  he 
played  them,  his  face  became  glorified.  Ilis  skill  was 
not  great,  and  his  tunes  had  a  strange  monotony 
about  them,  but  they  gave  to  his  soul  a  joy  passing 
the  glory  of  battle  or  the  love  of  women.  lie  was 
never  too  weary  for  them  in  the  evening,  though  the 
day's  work  had  been  ever  so  hard  and  long.  Great 
was  his  pride  and  joy  that  day,  when  the  house  was 
finished,  and,  \vith  pipes  playing  and  ribbons  flying, 
he  headed  the  gleeful  workmen  as  they  marched  away 
to  the  town. 

From  that  day  forward  the  White  House  on  the 


FIIIST    GLIMPSE    OF   LORNE.  2^ 

Hill  remained  silent  in  the  solitude.  Though  the 
fiumincr  season  came,  and  with  it  the  stream  of  tour- 
ists and -visitors,  the  Wanderer  abode  undisturbed. 
Far  off  he  saw  tlie  white  gleam  of  the  little  town 
across  the  long  stretch  of  field  and  marsh,  but  he  sel- 
dom bent  his  footsteps  thither,  save  when  constrained 
by  urgent  business,  ^N^evertheless,  faces  came  and 
went,  and  bright  scenic  glimpses  rose  and  passed, 
while  day  after  day  he  found  his  love  deepening  for 
the  Land  of  Lome. 

In  a  certain  sense,  the  whole  Hebrides  are  the  Land 
of  Lome,  Skye  as  much  so  as  Kerrera,  Coll  and  Tiree 
and  Kum  as  much  as  Appin  and  Awe,  Loch  Scavaig,  and 
Loch  Eishart  as  much  so  as  Lochs  Feochan  and  Etive. 
The  family  house  of  Lome  began  with  a  son  of  Somer- 
led,  Thane  of  Argyll  and  Lord  of  the  Isles,  who  worried 
and  bullied  the  Scottish  king,  Malcolm,  until  slain  in 
battlo  at  Renfrew.  By  a  daughter  of  Olaus,  King  of 
Man,  Somerled  had  two  sons,  Ronald  and  Dougall,  the 
first  of  whom  was  the  ancestor  of  the  Lords  of  the 
Isles,  or  Macronalds^  and  the  second  of  whom  be- 
queathed his  surname  to  the  Lords  of  Lome,  or  Mac- 
dougalls.  Dougall  got  for  his  birthright  certain  main- 
land territories  in  Argyllshire,  now  known  as  the 
three  districts  of  Lome,  but  his  name  and  fame 
stretched  far  further  and  embraced  many  of  the  isles. 
He  resided  in  the  stronghold  of  Dunstaffnage,  with 
all  the  power  and  more  than  the  glory  of  a  petty 
prince.  Thenceforward,  the  Macdougalls  of  Lome 
Increased  and  multiplied.  At  the  time  when  Ilaco 
invaded  the  west  (12G3)  they  were  great  and  prosper- 
ous, and  fierce  in  forays  against  the  Cailean  Mor,  or 


28  TJdE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

Knight  of  Loch  Awe,  from  whom  comes  the  ducal 
lioiise  of  Argyll.  For  year  after  year  the  Macdougall 
of  Lome  fought  against  the  dominion  of  Bruce,  wlio 
had  sh\in  the  Ked  Comyn,  Lome's  father-in-law, 
in  the  Dominican  church  at  Dumfries;  wherefore 
Bruce,  when  his  power  rose  in  Scotland,  marched  into 
Argyllshire  to  lay  waste  the  country.  John  of  Lome, 
son  of  the  chieftain,  was  posted  with  his  clansmen  in 
the  Pass  of  Awe,  a  wild  and  narrow  pathway,  passing 
on  helow  the  verge  of  Ben  Cruachan,  and  surrounded 
hy  precipices  to  all  appearance  inaccessible.  The 
military  skill  of  Bruce,  however,  enabled  him  to  ob- 
tain possession  of  the  heights  above,  whence  his 
archers  discharged  a  fatal  volley  of  arrows  on  the  dis- 
comfited men  of  Argyll,  who  were  routed  with  great 
slaughter — John,  their  leader,  just  managing  to 
escape  by  means  of  his  boats  on  the  lake.  After  this 
victory,  Bruce  "  harried  "  Argyllshire,  and  besieging 
Dunstaffnage  Castle,  on  the  west  shore  of  Lome,  re- 
duced it  by  fire  and  sword,  and  placed  in  it  agamson 
and  governor  of  his  own.  Alaster,  the  chieftain,  at 
last  8uV)mitted,  but  John,  still  rebellious,  escaped  to 
England.  When  the  wars  between  the  Bruce  and 
Baliol  factions  again  broke  out  in  the  reign  of  David 
II.,  the  Macdougalk,  with  their  hereditary  enmity  to 
the  house  of  Bruce,  were  again  upon  the  losing  side. 
I)avid  II.,  and  his  successor,  stripped  them  of  the 
greater  part  of  their  territories,  and  in  1434  one  Rob- 
ert Stuart  was  appointed  to  administer  their  lands 
under  the  title  of  Seneschal  of  Lome.  In  spite  of  all 
this  terrible  adversity,  the  Macdougal Is  still  continued 
to  exist,  oven  to   floiirish   in    a  private  way.     They 


FIRST   GLIMPSE   OF   LORNE.  29 

retained  the  Castle  of  Dunollie,  witli  the  titles  of 
chieftainship  over  the  clan.  But  in  the  year  1715. 
the  irrepressible  blood  burst  forth  again,  and  the  Mac- 
dougall  of  the  period,  having  joined  the  insurrection, 
found  himself  mulcted  of  his  estate.  Thirty  years 
afterward,  however,  it  was  restored  to  the  family, 
whom  sad  experience  had  rendered  quiescent  during 
the  rebellion  of  that  period.  The  present  representa- 
tive, a  quiet  major  in  the  army,  eats  the  Queen's 
bread,  and  preserves  the  family  glory  in  a  modest,  un- 
assuming way.  He  has  a  modern  house  and  farm 
close  to  the  ruins  of  Dunollie,  the  ancient  stronghold 
of  his  race. 

These  same  ruins  of  Dunollie  stand  on  the  very 
point  of  the  promontory  to  the  northwest  of  Oban, 
and  form  one  of  the  finest  foregrounds  possible  for  all 
the  scenery  of  the  Frith.  There  is  no  old  castle  in 
Scotland  quite  so  beautifully  situated.  On  days  of 
glassy  calm,  every  feature  of  it  is  mirrored  in  the  sea, 
with  browns  and  grays  that  ravish  the  artistic  eye. 
There  is  not  too  much  of  it  left ;  just  a  wall  or  two, 
lichen-covered  and  finely  broken.  Seen  from  a  dis- 
tance, it  is  always  a  perfect  piece  of  color,  iu  fit  keep- 
ing with  the  dim  and  doubtful  sky;  but  in  late 
autumn,  when  the  woods  of  the  promontory  have  all 
their  glory — fir-trees  of  deep  black  green,  intermixed 
with  russet  and  golden  birches — Dunollie  is  something 
to  watch  for  hours  and  wonder  at.  The  day  is  dark, 
but  a  strong  silvern  light  is  in  the  air,  a  light  in 
which  all  the  blue  pliadows  deepen  ;  while  far  off  in 
the  west,  over  green  Kerrera,  is  one  long  streak  of 
faint  violet,   above   wliich    gather  strongly  -  defined 


4 


30  THE    LAND    OF    LOUNE 

clouds  in  a  brooding  slate-colored  mass.  On  Biicli  a 
day — and  such  days  are  numberless  in  the  Highland 
autumn — the  silvern  light  strikes  strong  on  Dunoliie, 
bringing  out  every  line  and  tint  of  the  noble  ruin, 
while  the  sea  beneath,  with  the  merest  shadow  of  the 
cold,  faint  wind  upon  it,  shifts  its  tints  like  a  sword- 
blade  in  the  light,  from  soft  steel-gray  to  deep,  slum- 
brous blue.  It  only  wants  Morven  in  the  background, 
dimly  purple  with  dark,  plum-colored  stains,  and  the 
swathes  of  white  mist  folded  round  the  high  peaks,  to 
complete  the  perfect  picture. 

The  visitor  to  the  west  coast  of  Scotland  is,  doubt- 
less, often  disappointed  by  the  absenceof  bright  colors 
and  brilliant  contrasts,  such  as  he  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  in  Italy  and  in  Switzerland,  and  he  goes  away 
too  often  with  a  malediction  on  the  mist  and  the 
rain,  and  an  under-murmur  of  contempt  for  Scottish 
scenery,  such  as  poor  Montalembert  sadly  expressed 
in  his  life  of  the  Saint  of  lona.  But  what  many 
chance  visitors  despise  becomes  to  the  living  resident 
a  constant  source  of  joy.  Those  infinitely  varied 
grays — those  melting,  melodious,  dimmest  of  browns — 
those  silvery  gleams  through  the  fine  neutral  tint  of 
cloud  !  One  gets  to  like  strong  sunlight  least ;  it 
dwarfs  the  mountains  so,  and  destroys  the  beautiful 
distance.  Dark,  dreamy  days,  with  the  clouds  clear  and 
high,  and  the  wind  hushed ;  or  wild  days,  mth  the  dark 
heavens  blowing  past  like  the  rush  of  a  sea,  and  the 
shadows  driving  like  mad  things  over  the  long  grass 
and  the  marshy  pool ;  or  sad  days  of  rain,  with  dim, 
pathetic  glimpses  of  the  white  and  weeping  orb;  or 
nights  of  the  round  moon,  when  the  air  throbs  with 


FIRST   GLIMPSE   OP   LORNE.  »l 

strange  electric  liglit,  and  the  hill  is  mirrored  dark  as 
ebony  in  the  glittering  sheet  of  the  locli ;  or  nights  of 
the  Aurora  and  the  lunar  rainbow — on  days  and 
nijlhts  like  those  is  the  Land  of  Lome  beheld  in  its 
glory.  Even  during  those  superb  sunsets,  for  which 
its  coasts  are  famed — sunsets  of  fire  divine,  with  all 
the  tints  of  the  prism — only  west  and  east  kindle  to 
great  brightness ;  while  the  landscape  between  reflects 
the  glorious  light  dimly  and  gently,  interposiDg  mists 
and  vapors,  with  dreamy  shadows  of  the  hills.  These 
bright  moments  are  exceptional ;  yet  is  it  quite  fair 
to  say  so  when,  a  dozen  times  during  the  rainy  day, 
the  heart  of  the  grayness  bursts  open,  and  the  rain- 
bow issues  forth  in  complete  semi-circle,  glittering  in 
glorious  evanescence,  with  its  dim  ghost  fluttering 
faintly  above  it  on  the  dark  heavens  ? 

"  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 
A  rainbow  in  the  sky !" 

The  Iris  comes  and  goes,  and  is,  indeed,  like  the  sun- 
light, "  a  glorious  birth  "  wherever  it  appears  ;  but  for 
rainbows  of  all  degrees  of  beauty,  from  the  superb  arch 
of  delicately-defined  hues  that  spans  a  complete  land- 
scape for  minutes  together  to  the  delicate,  dying  thing 
that  flutters  for  a  moment  on  the  skirt  of  the  storm- 
cloud,  and  dies  to  the  sudden  sob  of  the  rain,  the 
Wanderer  knows  no  corner  of  the  earth  to  equal 
Lome  and  the  adjacent  isles. 

Two  qualities  are  necessary  to  the  enjoyment  of 
these  things.  The  first  quality  is  quiescence,  or 
brooding-power — the  patient  faculty  of  waiting  while 
images  are  impressing  themselves  upon  you,  of  relin- 
quishing your  energetic  identity  and  becoming  a  sort 


A 


31!  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

of  human  tarn  or  mirror.  If  you  want  to  be 
"  shocked,"  galvanized,  so  to  speak,  you  must  go  else- 
wliere,  say  to  Chimborazo  or  the  North  Pole.  The 
second  quality  necessary  is  (to  be  Hibernian)  not  al- 
together a  quality,  but  the  acquired  conviction  that 
rain  is  beautiful  and  mist  poetical,  and  that  to  be  wet 
through  twice  or  thrice  a  day  is  not  undesirable.  In 
point  of  fact,  for  actual  "  downpours "  of  water,  the 
Highlands  are  not  much  worse  than  the  rest  of  Great 
Britain,  but  the  changes  are  more  sudden  and  incalcu- 
lable. To  abide  indoors  on  account  of  wet  or  lowering 
weather  may  do  very  well  in  Surrey,  but  it  will  not 
do  in  Lome  ;  for  if  you  want  to  see  the  finest  natural 
effects — if  you  want  to  get  the  best  sport  on  land  and 
water — if  you  want  to  do  in  Lome  as  Lome  does — you 
must  think  no  more  of  rain  there  tlian  you  do  of  dust 
in  the  city.  Abolish  waterproofs,  which  were  invent- 
ed by  the  devil;  away  with  umbrellas,  which  were 
devised  for  old  women,  and  are  only  tolerable  when 
Leech's  pretty  girls  are  smiling  under  them ;  don  a 
suit  of  thick  tweed,  sucb  as  any  cotter  weaves,  cut  a 
stick  from  the  nearest  blackthorn  bush,  and  sally  forth 
in  all  weathers.  Let  your  boots  be  just  easy  enough 
to  let  the  water  "  out "  when  it  has  managed  to  get 
"  in,"  and  you  will  be  quite  comfortable.  Those  wlio 
tell  you  that  a  damp  coat  and  a  wet  shoe  mean  dan- 
ger to  your  health  are  only  talking  nonsense.  Tight 
v/aterproof  boots  and  macintoshes  are  more  fatal 
things  than  cold  and  rani. 

Let  it  not  be  gathered  from  what  we  have  said 
that  the  climate  of  Lome  is  bad,  and  the  rain  unceas- 
ing.    On  the  contrary,  there  are,  nearly  every  year, 


FfUST   C>I;IMrSE   OF   T,Oi;NE.  SM 

long  intervals  of  dronght,  glaring  Biimmor  clays,  when 
the  landscape  "  winks  through  the  heat,"  and  the  sea 
ifc  like  molten  gold.  What  we  mean  to  convey  is, 
that  some  of  the  finest  natural  elfacts  are  vaporous, 
and  occur  only  when  rain  is  falling  or  impending,  and 
that  it  is  pitiful  in  a  strong  man  to  miss  these  from 
fear  of  a  wet  skin.  As  we  write,  in  the  late  autumn 
season,  there  is  little  to  complain  of  on  the  score  of 
wet.  We  have  not  had  a  drop  of  rain  for  a  fortnight. 
The  days  have  been  bright  and  short,  and  the  nights 
starry  and  briglit,  with  frequent  flashes  of  the  aurora. 
It  if  the  gloaming  of  the  year — 

" To  ruspet  brown 


The  heather  faded.     On  the  treeless  hill, 
O'er-rusted  with  the  red  decaying  bracken. 
The  Bheep  crawl  slow." 

This  is  the  brooding  hush  that  precedes  the  stormy, 
wintry  season,  and  all  is  inexpressibly  beautiful.  The 
wind  blows  chill  and  keen  from  the  north,  breaking 
the  steel-gray  waters  of  the  firth  into  crisp-wliito 
waves ;  and,  though  it  is  late  afternoon,  the  western 
sky  hangs  dark  and  chill  over  the  mountains  of  Mull, 
while  the  east  is  softly  bright,  with  clouds  tinted  to  a 
faint  crimson.  There  is  no  bri<i;htness  on  anv  of  the 
hills,  save  to  the  east,  where,  suffused  with  a  roseate 
flush,  stands  Ben  Cruachan,  surrounded  by  those 
lesser  heights,  beautifully  christened  the  "  Shepherds 
of  Loch  Etive,"  a  space  of  dafibdil  sky  just  above  him 
and  them,  and  then,  a  mile  higher,  like  a  dome,  one 
magnificent  rose-colored  cloud.  Thus  much  it  is  pos- 
sible to  describe,  but  not  so  the  strange  vividness  of 
the  green  tints  everywhere,  and  the  overpowering 
•2* 


34  THE   LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

sense  of  height  and  distance.  Though  every  fissure 
and  cranny  of  Cruachan  seems  distinct  in  the  red 
light,  the  whole  mountain  seems  great,  dreamy,  and 
glorified.  Walking  on  one  of  the  neighboring  hills, 
the  Wanderer  seems  lifted  far  up  into  the  air,  into  a 
still  world,  where  the  heart  beats  wildly,  and  the  eyes 
grow  dizzy  looking  downward  on  the  mother-planet. 

In  autumn,  and  even  in  winter,  stillness  like  this, 
dead  brooding  calm,  sometimes  steals  over  Lome  for 
weeks  together,  and  all  the  colors  deepen  and  brighten ; 
but  at  such  times,  as  at  all  others,  the  finest  effects  are 
those  of  the  rain-cloud  and  the  vapor,  and  no  over- 
powdering  sense  of  sunlight  comes  to  trouble  the 
vision. 

Standing  on  the  high  hill  behind  his  house,  the 
Wanderer  commands  a  wondrous  view  of  the  whole 
firth  of  Lome,  and  not  least  noticeable  in  the  prospect 
is  the  number  of  ancient  ruins.  There,  to  begin  with, 
is  Dunollie,  a  fine  foreground  to  Morven.  Farther 
north,  close  at  the  mouth  of  Loch  Etive,  Dunstaff'nage 
stands  on  its  promontory — a  ruin  on  a  larger  scale, 
but,  on  the  whole,  less  picturesque.  Far  across  the 
firth,  on  the  southern  promontory  of  Mull,  looking 
darkly  on  the  waters  of  the  gloomy  sound, 

"  Where  thwarting  tides,  with  mingled  roar, 
Part  the  swart  liills  from  Morven's  shore," 

looms  Duart,  the  ancient  stronghold  of  the  Macleans  ; 
and  fixrther  still,  scarcely  distinguishable  in  the  d'nii 
distance, 

"Axdtornish,  on  her  frowning  eteep 
'Twixt  earth  and  heaven  hung," 


FinST  GLIMPSE   OF   LORNE.  35 

overlooks  the  same  sound.  Others  there  are,  shut  out 
from  view  by  intervening  hills  and  headlands  ;  indeed, 
wherever  a  bold  promontory  juts  out  into  the  water, 
there  has  been  a  castle,  and  more  or  less  of  the  ruins 
remain.  'What  light  and  meaning  they  lend  to  the 
prospect !  What  a  fine  appeal  they  have  to  the  human 
sentiment,  quite  apart  from  their  sesthetie  beauty, 
their  delicious  coloring.  To  call  them  castles  is  per- 
haps less  correct  than  to  describe  them  as  private 
mansions  of  castellated  form,  with  certain  provisions 
against  sudden  assault.  In  each  of  them,  of  old,  dwelt 
some  petty  chief  with  his  family  and  retainers  ;  and 
at  intervals,  for  some  great  end,  these  chiefs  could 
flock  together,  as  they  did  on  the  occasioa  of  the 
betrothal  of  the  Maid  of  Lome — 

"  Brave  Torquil  irom  Dunvegan  high. 
Lord  of  the  misty  hills  oi  Skye 
Macneil,  wild  Barra's  ancient  thane, 
Duart,  of  bold  Clan-Gillian 't^  strain, 
Fergus,  of  Canna's  castled  bay, 
Macduffith,  Lord  of  Colonsay," 

and  any  number  of  others — sea-eagles,  building  their 
nests  on  the  ocean  headland,  and  flitting  from  bay  to 
bay  by  night  to  plunder  and  to  avenge.  They  seem 
to  have  chosen  the  sites  of  their  wild  dwellings  quite 
as  much  for  convenience  in  embarking  and  for  fishing 
purposes  as  for  strategical  reasons.  Few  of  the  old 
castles  gain  any  strength  from  their  situation.  There 
are  some,  of  coui*se,  not  situated  close  to  the  water — • 
such  as  Finlagm,  in  Isla,  which  was  placed  on  an  in- 
land lake,  and  others  on  the  islaixls  of  Loch  Dochart 
and  Loch  Lomond.     Stalker  Castle  stood  on  an  island 


^^  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

not  mxnh  big-gcr  than  itself;  so  did  Chisamil.  None 
of  these  are  protected  against  military  attack,  many 
of  them  being  commanded  by  rising  gronnd,  a  few 
volleys  from  which  would  have  made  short  work  of 
the  defenders.  Most  of  them,  like  Duart  yonder, 
stand  on  rocks  accessible  only  on  one  side,  so  that  thev 
are  well  protected  against  personal  assault.  One 
thing  was  never  forgotten — ^the  dungeon  for  the  ca]> 
tive  foe. 

Dunollie  shows  to  most  advantao-e  at  a  distance,  iis 
a  part  of  the  landscape.  The  ruins  consist  only  of  a 
portion  of  the  keep,  which  is  overgrown  with  ivy.  But 
the  view  from  the  promontory  is  very  grand,  and  close 
at  hand  there  is  the  Dog-Stone  {Claeh-a^-choin),  a 
luige  mass  of  conglomerate  rock  rising  up  from  the 
shore,  and  identified  as  the  stake  to  which  the  £rreat 
Fenian  king  {Uigh  na  Feinne)  used  to  tie  his  dog 
Bran.  Bran  !  Fingal !  At  the  very  names,  how  the 
whole  prospect  changes!  The  ruins  on  each  liead- 
land  grow  poor  and  insignificant,  and  in  the  large 
shadows  of  the  older  heroes  the  small  chieftains  dis- 
appear. The  eyes  turn  to  Morven  and  the  "  sound- 
ing halls  of  Selma,"  and,  for  the  moment,  all  other 
associations  are  forgotten.* 

From  Dunollie  to  Dunstaifnage  is  only  a  few  miles' 
walk,  and  it  is  one  to  be  undertaken  by  all  visitors  to 
Oban.  The  road  winds  through  low  hills  of  thynu; 
and  heather,  past  green  slopes  where  sheep  bleat  and 
cattle  low,  skirting  pleasant  belts  of  woodland,  and 
occasionally  fields  of  waving  com,  and  passes  on  by 

*  For  remarks  on  the  Ossianic  poetry,  eee  Vol.  II .  the  chapter 
on  Glen  Sligachan. 


I'lllST   GLIMPSE   or  LOIINE.  37 

the  side  of  Loch  Etive  to  the  Pass  of  Awe  ;  but  leav- 
ing it  some  distance  before  it  reaches  tlie  loch,  you 
nmst  strike  along  tlie  seashore  to  the  promontory, 
or  istlimus,  on  which  stands  DunstafTnage — a  large 
square  ruin,  not  very  picturesque  when  so  approached, 
though  commanding  a  magnificent  view.  The  cus- 
todian, who  shows  visitors  over  the  castle,  is  a  solemn 
young  Celt,  a  gardener,  who  has  quite  a  pretty  little 
orchard  adjoining  his  cottage.  If  you  press  him,  he 
will  give  you  the  history  of  Dunstafihage  in  a  narra- 
tive fully  as  interesting,  and  nearly  as  reliable,  as  any 
tale  of  fixiry-land,  but  distrust  him,  and  turn  to  the 
guide-book,  an  extract  from  which  we  give  below. ''^ 

*  According  to  the  Pictisli  chronicles,  Kenneth  MacAlpine 
transferred  the  seat  of  government  from  Dunstaffnage  to  Fortc- 
viot,  in  Perthshire,  in  843.  As  the  Norwegians  began  to  make 
inroads  iipon  the  western  coast  of  Scotland  about  this  time.  Dr. 
Jamieson  thinks  it  highly  probable  that,  on  being  deserted  by  its 
royal  possessors,  Dunstaffnage  became  a  stronghold  of  the  Norse 
invaders.  For  several  centuries  the  place  is  lost  sight  of  in  the 
national  annals,  and  only  reappears  during  the  eventful  reign  of 
Robert  Bruce,  who  took  possession  of  it  after  his  victory  over  the 
Lord  of  Lome  in  the  Pass  of  Awe.  At  that  time  it  belonged  to 
Alexander  of  Argyll,  father  of  John,  Jjordof  Lome.  Old  charters 
show  that  the  castle  and  lands  of  Dunstaffnage  were,  in  1430, 
granted  to  Dugal,  son  of  Colin,  Knight  of  Loch  Awe,  the  ancestor 
of  the  family  in  whose  possession,  as  "  Captains  of  Dunstaffnage," 
it  has  remained  to  the  present  day.  The  existing  representative 
of  the  family  is  Sir  Donald  Campbell,  Bart., of  Dunstaffnage.  As 
a  stronghold  of  the  clan  Campbell,  Dunstaffnage  was  maintained 
down  to  the  rebellions  in  1715  and  1745,  when  it  was  garrisoned 
by  the  royal  forces.  The  old  castle  is  said  to  have  been  disman- 
tled by  iire,  in  1715.  The  nominal  hereditary  keeper  of  the  castle 
is  the  Duke  of  Argyll. 

The  castle  is  built  in  a  quadrangular  form,  87  feet  square  with- 


38  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE, 

Perliaps,  instead  of  engaging  the  faculties  with 
doubtful  tradition,  it  is  wise  to  reserve  the  guide- 
book till  you  reach  your  home  or  inn,  and  to  spend 
the  whole  time  of  your  visit  in  looking  at  the  sur- 
rounding prospect.  Round  the  isles  beneath  the 
promontory,  the  tide  boils  ominously,  setting  in  to- 
ward Conn  el  Ferry,  a  mile  distant,  where  Loch  Etive 
suddenly  narrows  itself  from  the  breadth  of  a  mile  to 
that  of  two  hundred  yards,  causing  the  waters  to  rush 
in  or  out,  at  flood  or  ebb,  with  the  velocity  of  a  tor- 
rent shooting  to  the  fall.  If  the  wind  is  down,  you 
can  hear  a  deep  sound,  just  as  Sir  "Walter  describes  it : 

"  The  ragiug 


Of  Connel  witli  his  rocks  engaging  ;  " 

for  the  narrow  passage  is  blocked  by  a  ledge  of  rock, 
"  awash"  at  half  tide,  causing  a  tremendous  overfall, 
the  roaring  surge  of  which  is  audible  for  miles.  Seen 
from  here,  Cruachan  seems  to  have  quite  altered  his  pos- 
ition— surrounded  by  the  great  "  Shepherds,"  he  casts 
his  gigantic  shadow  over  the  head  of  Loch  Etive,  and 
seems  in  close  proximity  to  the  Glencoe  range. 
Turning  westward,  you  look  right  across  the  great 
waters  of  Loch  Liimhe,  and  see  the  long  green  island 

in  the  walls,  with  round  towers  at  three  of  the  angles.  The 
height  of  the  walls  is  G6  feet,  and  their  thickness  d  feet.  The 
walls  outside  measure  270  feet ;  and  the  circumference  of  the 
rock  on  wliich  the  castle  stands  is  300  feet.  The  entrance  sea 
M  ard  is  l)y  a  staircase,  but  it  is  probable  that  in  ancient  times  it 
was  by  a  drawbridge.  A  brass  guu  is  preserved  on  the  battle- 
ments bearing  the  date  of  1700,  showing  that  it  is  not  a  wrecked 
trophy  of  a  ship  of  the  Spanish  Armada  (1588),  as  is  usually  re- 
ported. 


FII18T    GblMl'SK    OF    LOllNE.  :?^ 

of  Lismoro,  or  the  Great  Garden,  stretching  snake- 
like at  the  feet  of  the  mountains  of  Morven  ;  and,  fol- 
lowing the  chain  of  these  mountains  northward, 
where  thej  begin  to  grow  dim  in  height  and  distance, 
tracing  the  mighty  outlines  of  Kingairloch  and  Ard- 
gower,  you  may  catch  a  glimpse,  dim  to  very  dreami- 
ness— a  vague,  momentary  glimpse,  which  leaves  you 
doubtful  if  you  look  on  hill  or  cloud — of  the  monarch 
of  Scottish  mountains — Ben  Kevia. 


A 


40  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 


CHAPTER   II. 


PICTITRES      INLAND 


Tho  Season  —  Cuckoos  —  Summer  Daj-s  —  Autimin  -  Winter  —  Moorland 
Lochs — Tlio  i.''ii-Woocl — The  Moors  and  the  Sea — Farm-tiouscs  and 
Crofters'  Huts — Traces  of  former  Cultivation  on  the  Hills — The  Piuined 
Saetcrs — Graveyard  at  DunstaHuage — Tho  Island  of  Inishail. 

This  is  a  mai'veloiis  land,  a  scene  of  beauty,  ever 
changing,  and  giving  fresh  cause  for  joy  and  wonder. 
Every  year  deepens  the  charm.     One  never  tires  of 
Cruachan  and  the  "  Shepherds,"  or  of  Dunollie  and 
Morven,  or  of  the  far-off  gHmpses  of  the  sea      There 
are  no  two  days  alike.     Last  year,  it  seemed   that 
every  possible  effect  of  sun  and  shadow  had  presented 
itself;  and  now  not  a  week  passes  without  producing 
some  scenic  loveliness  which  comes  like  a  revelation. 
But  the  charm  is  moral  as  well  as   aesthetic.       The 
landscape  would  be  nothing  without  its  human  faces. 
Humanity  does   not  obtrude  itself  in  this  solitude, 
but  it  IS  none  the  less  present,  consecrating  the  whole 
scene  with  its  mysterious  and  spiritual  associations. 

As  the  year  passes  there  is  always  something  new 
to  attract  one  who  loves  Nature.  *  AVhcn  the  winds 
ol  March  have  blown  themselves  faint,  and  the  April 
heaven  has  ceased  weeping,  there  comes  a  rich  sunny 
day,  and  all  at  once  the  cuckoo  is  heard  telling  his 
name  to  all  the   hills.     IS'ever  was  such  a  place  ior 


PICTUllES    INLAND.  41 

cuckoos  in  the  world.  The  cry  comes  from  every  tult 
of  wood,  from  every  hillside,  from  every  projecting 
era":.  The  bird  himself,  so  far  from  courtinii'  retire- 
ment,  flutters  across  your  path  at  every  step,  attended 
invariably  by  half  a  dozen  excited  small  birds ; 
alighting  a  few  yards  off,  crouches  down  for  a  mo- 
ment between  his  slate-colored  wings;  and  finally, 
rising  again,  crosses  your  path  with  his  sovereign 
cry— 

"  O  blithe  new-comer,  I  have  heard, 
I  hear  thee,  and  rejoice  !" 

Then,  as  if  at  a  given  signal,  the  trout  leaps  a  foot 
into  the  air  from  the  glassy  loch,  the  buds  of  the 
water-lily  float  to  the  surface,  the  lambs  bleat  from 
the  green  and  heathery  slopes,  the  rooks  caw  from 
the  distant  rookery,  the  cock-grouse  screams  from 
the  distant  hill-top,  and  the  blackthorn  begins  to 
blossom  over  the  nut-brown  pools  of  the  burn. 
Pleasant  days  follow,  days  of  high  white  clouds  and 
fresh  winds  whose  wings  are  full  of  warm  dew. 
AVherever  you  wander  over  the  hills,  you  see  the 
lambs  leaping,  and  again  and  again  it  is  your  lot  to 
rescue  a  poor  little  one  from  the  deep  pool,  or  stee]> 
ditch,  which  he  has  vainly  sought  to  leap  in  follow- 
ing liis  mother.  If  you  are  a  sportsman  you  rejoice, 
for  there  is  not  a  hawk  to  be  seen  anywhere,  and  the 
weasel  and  the  foumart  have  not  yet  begun  to  prome- 
nade the  mountains.  About  this  time  more  rain 
falls,  preliminary  to  a  burst  of  fine  summer  weather, 
and  innumerable  glow-worms  light  their  lamps  in  the 
marshes.  At  last,  the  golden  days  come,  and  all 
things  are  busy  with  their  young.     Frequently,  in  the 


42  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

midsummer,  tliere  is  a  drought  for  weeks  together. 
Day  after  day  the  sky  is  cloudless  and  blue ;  the 
mountain  lake  sinks  lower  and  lower,  till  it  seems 
about  to  dry  up  entirely ;  the  mountain  brooks  dwin- 
dle to  mere  silver  threads  for  the  water-ousel  to  fly  by, 
and  the  young  game  often  die  for  the  lack  of  water; 
while  afar  off,  with  every  red  vein  distinct  in  the 
burning  light,  without  a  drop  of  vapor  to  moisten  his 
scorching  crags,  stands  Ben  Cruachan.  By  this  time 
the  hills  are  assuming  their  glory — the  mysterious 
bracken  has  shot  up  all  in  a  night,  to  cover  them  with 
a  green  carpet  between  the  knolls  of  heather,  the 
liclien  is  penciling  the  crags  with  most  delicate 
silver,  pui*ple,  and  gold,  and  in  all  the  valleys  there 
are  stretches  of  light  yellow  corn  and  deep  green 
patches  of  foliage.  The  corn-crake  has  come,  and  his 
cry  fills  the  valleys.  Walking  on  the  edge  of  the 
corn-field  you  put  up  the  partridges  —  fourteen 
cheepers  the  size  of  a  thrush,  and  the  old  pair  to 
lead  them.  From  the  edge  of  the  peat-bog  the  old 
cock-grouse  rises,  and  if  you  are  sharp  you  may  see 
the  young  following  the  old  hen  through  the  deep 
heather  close  by.  The  snipe  drums  in  the  marsh. 
The  hawk,  having  brought  out  his  young  among  the 
crags  of  Kerrera,  is  hovering  still  as  stone  over  the 
edge  of  the  hill.  Then,  perchance,  just  at  the  end  of 
July,  there  is  a  gale  from  the  south,  blowing  for  two 
days  black  as  Erebus  with  cloud  and  rain  ;  then  going 
up  into  the  northwest  and  blowing  for  one  day  with 
little  or  no  rain ;  and  dying  away  at  last  with  a  cold 
puff  from  the  north.  All  at  once,  as  it  were,  the 
sharp  sound  of  firing  is  echoed  from  hill  to  hill ;  and 


nCTUims   INLAND,  43 

on  every  mouiitiiu  you  see  the  sporUman  climbing 
with  his  dog  ranging  above  and  before  him,  the 
keeper  following,  and  the  gillie  lagging  far  behind. 
It  \.-i  the  twelfth  of  August.  Thenceforth,  for  two 
montlis  at  least,  there  are  broiling  days,  interspersed 
with  storms  and  showers,  and  the  firing  continues 
more  or  less  from  dawn  to  sunset. 

Day  after  day,  as  the  autumn  advances,  the  tint  of 
the  hills  is  getting  deeper  and  richer,  and  by  Octo- 
"ber,  when  the  beech-leaf  yellows  and  the  oak-leaf 
reddens,  the  dim  purples  and  the  deep  greens  of  the 
heather  ai'e  perfect.  Of  all  seasons  in  Lome  the  late 
autumn  is,  ])erhaps,  the  most  beautiful.  The  sea  has 
a  deeper  hue,  the  sky  a  mellower  light.  There  are 
long  days  of  northerly  wind,  when  every  crag  looks 
perfect,  wrought  in  gray  and  gold  and  silvered  with 
moss,  when  the  high  clouds  turn  luminous  at  the 
ed'T^es,  when  a  thin  film  of  hoar-frost  gleams  over  the 
grass  and  heather,  when  the  light  burns  rosy  and 
faint  over  all  the  hills,  from  Morven  to  Cruachan,  for 
liours  before  the  sun  goes  down.  Out  of  the  ditch  at 
the  roadside  flaps  the  mallard,  as  you  pass  in  the 
gloaming,  and,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  small 
mountain  loch,  you  see  the  flock  of  teal  rise,  wheel 
thrice,  and  settle.  The  hills  are  desolate,  for  the 
sheep  are  being  smeared.  There  is  a  feeling  of  frost 
in  the  air,  and  Ben  Cruachan  has  a  crown  of  snow. 

When  dead  of  winter  comes,  how  wondrous  look 
the  hills  in  their  white  robes !  The  round  red  ball  of 
the  sun  looks  through  the  frosty  steam.  The  far-off 
firth  gleams  strange  and  ghostly,  with  a  sense  of  mys- 
terious distance.     The  mountain  loch  is  a  sheet  of 


44  THE    LAND   OF   LORNE. 

blue,  on  which  you  may  disport  in  perfect  solitude 
from  mom  to  night,  with  the  hills  white  on  all  sides, 
eave  where  the  broken  snow  shows  the  red-rusted 
leaves  of  tlio  withered  bracken.  A  deathly  stillnet^s 
and  a  death-like  beauty  reign  everywhere,  and  few 
living  things  are  discernible,  save  the  hare  plunging 
heavily  out  of  her  form  in  the  snow,  or  the  rabbit 
scuttling  off  in  a  snowy  spray,  or  the  small  birds  pip- 
ing disconsolate  on  the  trees  and  dykes.  Then  Peter, 
the  tame  rook,  brings  three  or  four  of  his  wild  rela- 
tions to  the  back  door  of  the  White  House,  and  they 
stand  aloof  with  their  heads  cocked  on  one  side,  while 
he  explains  their  position,  and  suggests  that  they,  be- 
ing hard-working  rooks  who  never  stooped  to  beg 
when  a  living  could  be  got  in  the  fields,  well  deserve 
to  be  assisted.  Then  comes  the  thaw.  As  the  sun 
rises,  the  sunny  sides  of  the  hills  are  seen  marked 
with  great  black  stains  and  winding  veins,  and  there 
is  a  sound  in  the  air  as  of  many  waters.  The  moun- 
tain brook  leaps,  swollen,  over  the  still  clinging  ice, 
the  loch  rises  a  foot  above  its  still  frozen  crust,  and  a 
damp  steam  rises  into  the  air.  The  wind  goes  round 
into  the  west,  great  vapors  blow  over  from  the  Atlan- 
tic, and  there  are  violent  storms. 

Such  is  a  mere  glimpse  of  the  seasons,  as  they  pass 
in  this  pastoral  land  of  Lome  ;  but  what  pen  or  pencil 
could  do  justice  to  their  evei--changing  Nvonders? 
Wherever  one  wanders,  on  hill  or  in  valley,  tiiere  is 
somethins  to  fascinate  and  deliirht.  Those  moorlai.d 
lochs,  for  example  1  Those  deep  pure  pools  of  dew 
distilled  from  the  very  heart  of  the  mountains — 
changing  as  the  season  clianges — ^lying  blue  as  steel 


PICTURES    INLAND.  4.> 

in  the  bright  clear  light,  or  tiirninp:  to  rich  mellow 
brown  in  the  times  of  flood.  On  all  of  them  the 
water-lily  blows,  creeping  up  magically  from  the 
under-world,  and  covering  the  whole  surface  with 
white,  green,  and  gold — its  broad  and  well-oiled 
leaves  floating  dry  in  delicious  softness  in  the  sum- 
mer sun,  and  its  milk-white  cups  opening  wider  and 
wider,  while  the  dragon-fly  settles  and  sucks  honey 
from  their  golden  hearts,  llow  exquisitely  the  hills 
are  mirrored,  the  images  only  a  shade  darker  than 
the  heights  above !  Perhaps  there  is  a  faint  breeze 
blowing,  leaving  here  and  there  large  flakes  of  glassy 
calm,  which  it  refuses  to  touch  for  some  mysterious 
reason,  and  tlie  edges  of  which — just  where  wind 
and  calm  meet — gleam  the  color  of  golden  fringe. 
Often  in  midsummer,  however,  the  loch  almost  dries 
up  in  its  bed ;  and  innumerable  flies — veritable  gad- 
flies with  stings — make  the  brink  of  the  water  un- 
pleasant, and  chase  one  over  the  hills.  In  such 
weather  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  make  off  to  the 
fir-woods,  and  there  to  dream  away  the  summer's  day, 
with  the  bell-shaped  flowers  around  you  in  one 
gleaming  sheet, 

"  Blue  as  a  little  patch  of  fallen  sky," 

and  the  primroses  fringing  the  tree-roots  with  pallid 
beauty  that  whitens  in  the  shadow.  The  wood  is 
delicious ;  not  too  dark  and  cold,  but  fresh  and 
scented,  with  open  spaces  of  green  sward  and  level 
sunshine.  The  fir  predominates,  dark  and  enduring 
in  its  loveliness ;  but  there  are  dwarf  oaks,  too,  with 
twisted  limbs  and  thick  branches,  and  the  moimtain 


46  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

ash  is  there,  with  its  innumerable  beads  of  crimson 
coral,  and  the  fluttering  aspen,  and  the  birch,  whose 
stem  is  penciled  with  threads  of  frosty  silver,  and 
the  thorns  snowed  over  with  delicate  blossoms. 

But,  of  course,  the  great  glory  of  Lome  is  the  open 
moor,  where  the  heather  blows  from  one  end  of  the 
year  to  the  other.  There  is  something  sea-like  in 
the  moor,  with  its  long  free  stretch  for  miles  and 
miles,  its  great  rolling  hills,  its  lovely  solitude, 
broken  only  by  the  cry  of  sheep  and  the  scream  of 
birds.  Lakes  and  water-lilies  are  to  be  found  far 
south.  There  are  richer  woods  in  Kent  than  any  in 
the  Highlands.  But  the  moors  of  the  western  coast 
of  Scotland  stand  alone,  and  the  moors  of  Lome  are 
finest  of  all.  Nowhere  in  the  world,  perhaps,  does 
nature  present  a  scene  of  greater  beauty  than  that 
you  may  behold,  with  the  smell  of  thyme  about  your 
feet,  and  the  mountain  bee  humming  in  your  ears, 
from  any  of  the  sea-commanding  heights  of  Lome. 
Turn  which  way  you  will,  the  glorious  moors  stretch 
before  you ;  wave  after  wave  of  purple  heather, 
broken  only  by  the  white  farm  with  its  golden 
fields,  and  the  mountain  loch  high  up  among  the 
hills;  while  the  arms  of  the  sea  steal  winding,  now 
visible,  now  invisible,  on  every  side,  and  the  far-off 
firth,  with  its  gleaming  sail,  stretches  from  the  white 
lighthouse  of  Lismore  far  south  to  the  Isla  and  its 
purple  caves.  Then  the  clouds!  White  and  high, 
they  drift  ovcrliead, 

"  Slow  traversing  the  blue  ethereal  field," 

and  you  can  watch  their  shadows  moving  on  the  moor 


PICTUllES    INLAND.  47 

for  miles  and  miles,  just  as  if  it  were  the  sea  !  Nor 
is  the  scene  baiTen  of  such  little  touches  as  make  Eng- 
lish landscape  sweet.  There  are  bees  humming  every- 
where, and  skylarks  singing,  and  the  blackbird  whist- 
ling wherever  there  is  a  bush,  and  the  swift  wren 
darting  in  and  out  of  the  stone  dykes,  like  a  swift- 
winced  insect.  There  are  flowers  too — little  unob- 
trusive  things,  flowers  of  the  heath — primroses,  tormen- 
til,  bog-asphodel,  and  many  others.  But  nothing  is 
purchased  at  the  expense  of  freedom.  All  is  fresh  and 
free  as  the  sea.  After  familiarity  with  the  moor,  you 
turn  from  the  macadamized  road  with  disgust,  and 
will  not  even  visit  the  woods  till  the  fear  of  a  sun- 
stroke compels  you.  Did  we  compare  the  moor  to 
the  sea  ?  Yes ;  but  you  yourself  are  like  an  inhabit- 
ant thereof ;  not  a  mere  sailor  on  the  surface,  but  a 
real  haunter  of  the  deep.  What  hours  of  indolence  in 
the  daep  heather,  so  long  as  the  golden  weather  lasts! 
The  white  farm-house  in  the  center  of  its  yellow 
glebe  does  not  altogether  suit  tlie  great  free  landscape, 
but  from  a  distance  it  serves  as  a  foil  to  bring  out  the 
rocks  and  heather.  Sweeter  far  is  the  crofter's  little 
hut,  so  like  the  moor  itself  that  you  only  recognize  it 
by  the  blue  wreath  of  peat-smoke  issuing  from  its 
rude  chimney.  It  is  built  of  rough  stones  and  clods, 
thatched  with  straw  and  heather,  and  paven  with  clay. 
Over  its  outer  walls  crawls  a  gorgeous  trellis-work  of 
moss  and  lichen,  richer  than  all  the  carpets  of  Persia ; 
and  its  roof  is  purple,  green,  and  gold,  such  as  no  king 
ever  saw  in  the  tapestry  of  his  chamber.  This  may 
seem  a  wild  description  of  what  tourists  would  regard 
as  a  wretched  hut,  fit  only  for  a  pig  to  live  in  ;  but 


48  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

find  a  painter  with  a  soul  for  color,  and  ask  hhn. 
"Why,  the  very  dirty  children  who  stand  at  the  door, 
shading  their  sunburnt  faces  to  look  at  the  passer-by, 
have  tints  in  their  naked  skins  and  on  their  raerired 
kilts  such  as  would  fill  a  Titian's  heart  with  joy. 
Here  and  there  the  hut  is  displaced  to  give  place  to  a 
priggish  cottage,  with  whitewashed  walls  and  slate 
roofs ;  but  the  crofters,  to  do  them  justice,  rather  shun 
the  kind  innovation,  and  prefer  their  old  tenements. 
Step  into  the  hut  for  a  light  to  your  pipe,  and  look 
around  you.  The  place  is  full  of  delicious  peat-smoke, 
which  at  first  blinds  you,  and  then,  as  your  eyes  ac- 
custom themselves  to  it,  clears  away,  to  show  you  the 
old  grandfather  bending  over  the  flame,  the  wife  stir- 
ring the  great  black  pot,  and  the  cocks  and  hens 
perched  all  around  on  the  beams  and  rafters.  He 
who  fears  foul  smells  need  not  be  afraid  to  enter  here. 
Peat-smoke  is  the  great  purifier.  It  makes  all  smell 
sweet,  and  warms  every  cranny  of  the  poor  place  with 
its  genial  breath. 

The  pieces  of  arable  land  are  few,  compared  to  the 
long  stretches  of  moorland.  The  large  farms  have 
many  acres  of  growing  grain,  and  most  of  the  little 
crofts  have  a  tiny  patch  attached  to  them,  from  which 
they  manage  to  grow  a  little  corn  and  a  few  turnips 
and  potatoes. 

But  wherever  you  wander  over  the  moors,  you  will 
see  piteous  little  glimpses  of  former  cultivation — the 
furrow-marks  which  have  existed  for  generations. 
Wherever  there  is  a  bit  of  likely  ground  on  the  hill- 
side, be  sure  that  it  has  been  plowed,  or  rather  dug 
with  the  spade.     Standing  on  any  one  of  the  great 


PICTURES    INLAND.  49 

heights,  you  Bce  on  cverj  buIo  of  you  tho  green  slopes 
marked  with  the  old  ridges ;  and  yon  remember  that 
Lornc  in  former  days  was  a  thickly  jwpnlated  district. 
AVe  have  heard  it  stated,  and  even  by  bo  high  an  au- 
thority as  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  tliat  these  marks  do 
not  necessarily  indicate  a  higher  degree  of  jjrosperity 
than  exists  in  the  same  district  at  present,  We  are 
not  so  sure  of  that.  Nor  may  the  husbandry  have 
been  so  rude ;  since  the  spade  must  have  gone  deep 
to  leave  its  traces  so  long ;  and  busy  hands  can  do 
much,  even  to  supply  the  want  of  irrigation.  Attached 
to  some  of  the  existing  crofts,  which  work  entirely 
by  hand-lal)or  and  till  the  most  unlikely  ground,  we 
have  seen  some  of  the  best  bits  of  crop  in  the  district. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  remains  that  once  upon  a 
time  these  hills  of  heather  swarmed  with  crofts,  and 
were  covered  with  little  fields  of  grain. 

Hemote,  too,  among  the  hills,  in  the  most  lonely 
situations,  distant  by  long  stretches  of  bog  and  moor- 
land from  any  habitation,  you  will  find  here  and 
there,  if  you  wander  so  far,  a  ruin  in  the  midst  of 
green  slopes  and  heathery  bournes.  This  is  the  ruin 
of  the  old  Shieling,  which,  in  former  days,  so  resound- 
ed with  mirth  and  souii;. 

"  Oil,  sad  is  tlie  sliieling. 
Gone  are  its  joya  !" 

as  Robb  Gunn  sings  in  the  Gaelic.  Hither,  ere 
sheep-farming  was  invented,  came  the  household  of 
the  peasant  in  the  summer-time,  with  sheep  and  cat- 
tle ;  and  here,  while  the  men  returned  to  look  after 
matters  at  home,  the  women  and  young  people  abode 

3 


50  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

for  weeks,  tending  the  young  l;inil)s  and  kids,  watch- 
ing the  inilch-cow,  and  making  butter  and  clieese  that 
were  rich  with  the  succulent  juices  of  the  surrounding 
herbage.  Then  the  milk-pan  foamed,  the  distaff  went, 
the  children  leaped  for  joy  with  the  lambs,  and  in  the 
evening  the  girls  tried  charms,  and  learned  love-songs, 
and  listened  to  the  tales  of  their  elders  with  dreamy 
eyes.  Better  still,  there  was  real  love-making  to  be 
had  ;  for  some  of  the  men  remained,  generally  unmar- 
ried ones,  and  others  came  and  went ;  and,  somehow, 
in  those  long  summer  nights,  it  was  pleasant  to  sit  out 
in  a  flood  of  moonlight,  and  whisper,  and  perhaps 
kiss,  while  the  lambs  bleated  from  the  pens,  and  the 
silent  hills  slept  shadowy  in  the  mystic  light.  Ko 
wonder  that  Gaelic  literature  abounds  in  "  Shieling 
songs,"  and  that  most  of  these  are  ditties  of  love  !  The 
shieling  was  rudely  built,  as  a  mere  temporary  resi- 
dence, but  it  was  snug  enough  when  the  peat-bog  was 
handy.  In  the  wilds  of  the  Long  Island  it  is  still  used 
in  the  old  manner,  and  the  Wanderer  has  many  a  time 
crept  into  it  for  shelter  when  shooting  wild  fowl. 
The  Norwegian  saeter  is  precisely  the  same  as  the 
Scottish  shieling,  and  still,  as  every  traveler  knows, 
flourishes  in  all  its  glory. 

We  are  no  melancholy  mourner  of  the  past ;  rather 
a  sanguine  believer  in  progress  and  the  future  ;  but 
alas!  whenever  we  look  on  the  lonely  ruins  among 
the  hills,  we  feel  inclined  to  sing  a  dirge.  The  "  Big 
Bed  in  the  Wilderness,"  as  the  Gaelic  bard  named 
the  saeter  and  pasture,  is  empty  now — empty  and 
silent — and  the  children  that  shouted  in  it  are  buried 
in  all  quarters  of  the  earth  ;  aye,  and  many  had  reason 


PICTURES   INLAND.  51 

to  curse  the  crwoltj  of  luuu  ere  tliey  died,  for  they 
were  driven  fortli  jicross  the  watei-s  from  all  that  they 
loved.  Some  lived  on,  to  see  the  change  darker  and 
darker,  and  then  were  carried  on  handy-spokes,  in  the 
old  Scottish  fashion,  to  the  grave.  Many  a  long  sum- 
mer day  could  we  spend  in  meditation  over  the  places 
where  they  sleep. 

Highland  churchyards  are  invariably  beautiful  and 
pathetic,  but  there  are  two  in  Lome  of  perfect  and 
supreme  loveliness. 

Adjoining  the  ancient  stronghold  of  Dunstaffnao-e, 
Avhich  we  have  described  in  a  former  chapter,  there  is 
a  fir-plantation  fringing  the  promontory  and  over- 
looking the  boiling  tides  at  the  mouth  of  Loch  Etive ; 
and  in  the  heart  of  the  plantation  are  the  ruins  of  an 
old  chapel,  the  four  roofless  walls  of  which  still  stand.* 
The  ivy  clings  round  the  moldering  walls,  and  the 
square  space  is  filled  with  tombs  and  graves,  long 
grass  and  weeds.  Many  dead  lie  there — dead  that 
are  now  literally  dust,  and  dead  that  only  fell  to  sleep 
during  the  last  generation.  The  old  flat  tombs,  with 
their  quaint-carved  figures  and  worn-out  inscriptions, 
were  originally  used  to  mark  the  graves  of  ancient 
chiefs  and  their  families ;  but  now  they  do  duty  as 
the  gravestones  of  fishermen  and  herdsmen.  Whole 
families  of  poor  folk,  who  lived  and  died  with  the 

*  The  original  building,  measuring  only  twenty-four  yards  by 
eiglit,  is  deformed  by  a  modern  addition  at  the  east  end,  obscuring 
the  altar  window, which  appears  to  have  been  very  graceful,  being 
in  the  early  English  style,  with  banded  shafts  and  the  dog-tooth 
ornament.  Under  the  window  a  triple  tablet  extends  round  the 
cliapel. 


52  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

wash  of  the  sea  in  their  ears,  rest  together  here  with 
the  sea-spray  on  their  graves.  At  all  seasons,  even  on 
the  hottest  summer  day,  there  is  a  chill  exhalation 
here,  a  feeling  as  of  the  touch  of  damp  marble.  Tlie 
trees  around  snare  the  golden  light,  and  twine  it  in 
and  out  of  their  dark  branches  till  it  is  turned  to  faint 
silver  threads.  Flowers  grow  at  the  tree-roots,  even 
in  the  grassy  interstices  between  the  graves ;  and  fresh 
flowers  are  thrown  regularly  on  the  large  marble  tomb 
closed  in  at  the  eastern  side  of  the  ruin,  the  last  meet- 
ing-place of  the  Campbells  of  Dunstaffnage. 

Still  more  lovely  is  Inishail.  It  is  a  little  island  in 
the  center  of  Loch  Awe — the  great  fresh-water  lake 
stretching  for  miles  at  the  base  of  Ben  Cruachan.  At 
one  extremity  there  is  the  ruins  of  a  convent  of  Cis- 
tercian nuns ;  at  the  other,  the  old  burial-place  whither 
the  dead  are  brought  over  water  to  this  day.  Low 
and  silent,  the  isle  floats  upon  the  mighty  loch,  with 
its  little  load  of  dead.  Once  in  a  year,  in  the  summer- 
time, the  sky  falls,  and  lies  in  one  sheet  of  delicious 
blue-bells  over  the  island,  so  that  it  looks  a  blest  place 
indeed  ;  one  soft  azure  stain  on  the  loch,  in  the  long 
dreamy  days,  when  the  water  is  a  glassy  mirror;  and 
the  adjoining  Black  Isles  cast  their  wooded  reflections 
deep,  deep  down  into  the  crystal  gulf  on  which  they 
swim.  In  the  old  days,  the  dead-boat  would  move 
slowly  hither  to  the  melancholy  music  of  the  bagpipes, 
echoing  faint  and  far  over  the  water ;  and  still,  at 
loi2g  intervals,  it  comes,  but  without  the  old  weird 
music. 


THE    HEART   OF   LORNE.  68 


CIIAl^EU    TIT. 

THE    II  EAST   OF    LORNE. 

Loch  Awo  and  its  Ancient  Legend— Summer  Days  on  the  Lake— The 
Legend  of  Fraoch  Eilan— Kilchurn  Castle — Effects  of  Moonlight  and  of 
Storm— View  from  Glcnara— The  Pools  of  Cladich— Duncan  Ban  of  the 
gongs— His  Coiro  Chcathaich— His  Mairi  Ban  Og,  and  Last  Adieu  to 
the  Hills— Songs  of  tho  Children  of  tho  Mist— Tho  Pass  of  Awe— The 
Ascent  of  Ben  Cruachan. 

Standing  on  the  island  of  Inishail.  you  Bee  out- 
stretched before  you  one  of  the  loveliest  scenes  in  the 
world — the  whole  glorious  expanse  of  Loch  Awe,  with 
its  wooded  and  castled  isles,  the  dark  mouth  of  the 
Pass  of  Awe,  and  the  towering  heights  of  Ben  Crua- 
chan.  This,  indeed,  may  well  be  named  the  Heart 
of  Lome ;  for  out  of  the  mighty  sheet  of  water  innu- 
merable brooks  and  rivulets  stretch  like  veins  to  nour- 
ish all  the  land.  The  great  mountain  towers  above, 
"  varying  momently  his  crest,"  and  surveying  the  out- 
stretched map  of  the  Hebrides  as  far  north  as  Canna, 
and  as  far  south  as  the  headland  of  Cantyre. 

The  ancient  legend  of  Loch  Awe  is  preserved  in  the 
beautiful  tale  of  Bera.  In  the  old  dark  days,  far,  far 
back  in  time,  when  there  were  great  heroes  on  the 
earth,  and  great  sages  to  guide  their  arms,  Cruachan 
stood  yonder,  as  he  stands  now — 

"  Struggling  with  the  darkness  all  day  long. 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars  ;" 


54  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

and  his  scarce  accessible  lieiolits  were  covered  witli 
great  deer.  All  went  well  till  there  arose  on  Orua- 
clian  a  fatal  Well,  fulfilling  certain  melancholy  proph- 
ecy. Bera,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Grin  an,  the 
last  of  the  sages  of  old,  was  charged  to  keep  watch, 
and  daily,  as  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  sank  behind  the 
mountain,  to  cover  the  mouth  of  the  well  with  a  mys- 
tic stone,  marked  with  the  strange  runes  of  the  sages. 
But  Bera  was  a  great  huntress ;  and  one  day,  after 
wandering  far  in  pursuit  of  a  mighty  herd  of  deer,  she 
returned  to  her  seat  so  tired  out  that  she  fell  to  sleep 
beside  the  well.  The  sun  sank,  but  Bera  slept  on, 
and  the  fatal  well  remained  uncovered.  At  last,  a 
thunderclap  awoke  her,  and,  springing  up,  she  saw 
the  raging  of  a  fearful  storm  ;  and,  behold  !  the  fertile 
valley  beneath  herfeet  was  flooded  with  a  great  water, 
stretching  far  out  of  sight  in  all  directions,  lashed  to 
fury  by  the  wild  wind,  and  illumed  by  the  lightning. 
The  fatal  deed  once  done,  there  was  no  remedy,  and 
Loch  Awe  remains  to  this  day,  mystically  fed  and 
feeding,  the  veritable  Heart  of  Lome. 

The  coach  from  Inveraray  to  Oban  dashes  along 
the  shores  of  the  lake,  waters  at  Dalmally,  and  so  on 
through  the  Pass  of  Awe;  and  the  drive  is  a  glorious 
one ;  but  he  who  would  see  Loch  Awe  indeed  must 
live  on  its  banks  for  weeks,  watch  it  under  all  aspects 
of  wind  and  cloud,  and  navigate  its  endless  creeks  and 
bays  in  an  open  boat.  Few  tourists  do  linger,  save, 
of  course,  anglers,  who  come  in  spring  after  the  ordi- 
nary loch-trout,  and  in  autumn  after  the  salrno  ferox  / 
but  the  great  lake  is  full  of  interest  for  everybody, 
with  its  gorgeous  and  unapproachable  eftects  for  the 


THE    IIKART   OF    LOllNE.  i>i> 

painter,  its  wild  old  stories  for  the  poet,  its  castles  and 
cjraveyards  for  the  antiquarian,  and  its  general  air  of 
fascination  for  the  idler  and  lover  of  beauty. 

During  the  Bumnicr  drought,  Loch  Awe  is  the  hot- 
test place  in  Lome.  The  lake  sinks  in  its  bed  day 
after  day,  till  numberless  hidden  rocks  begin  to  jut 
through  the  glistering  water.  No  stream  breaks  the 
dead  silence  with  its  joyous  voice,  for  every  stream  is 
dry  ;  and  Ben  Cruachan  is  a  sheet  of  red-lEire,  sharply 
defined  at  the  edges  against  a  sky  insufferably  blue. 
At  such  times  a  fresh  breeze  often  blows  on  the  sea- 
board a  few  miles  away,  but  without  creeping  inland 
to  the  gre  it  lake,  over  and  around  which  buzz  innu- 
merable flies  of  a  venomous  species,  hovering  in  thou- 
sands round  the  cattle  and  driving  the  bare-legged 
herd-boy  nearly  mad.  On  the  sides  of  Cruachan  the 
adders  swarm,  though  tlieyare  never  found  elsewhere 
in  Lome.  But  the  scene  is  one  of  intoxicating  beauty, 
calling  up  dreams  of  far-off  Syria  and  its  great  lakes 
closed  in  by  similar  hills  of  stone,  that  scorch  in  the 
sunlight.  For  days  together  Loch  Awe  is  a  mirror 
without  one  speck  or  flaw,  reflecting  in  its  deep  bosom 
the  great  clear  mountains,  the  wooded  islets,  the  gray 
castles  moldering  on  their  promontories ;  every  shape 
and  tint  of  the  glorious  scene,  amid  which  you  wan- 
der quietly,  or  rather,  being  wise,  lie  quiescent,  just 
sheltered  bv  the  irreen  bous^h  of  a  tree,  hovering^ 

"  Between  the  dome  above  and  the  dome  under. 
The  hills  above  thee  and  their  ghosts  beneath  thee !" 

till  life  becomes  bo  flooded  with  drowsy  light  that 
consciousness  fades  into  a  mere  vacant  dream,  and  all 


56  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

you  behold  appears  beautifully  unreal.  Delicious  it 
is  in  such  weather  to  drift  from  place  to  place  in  a 
boat,  slowly  pulled  by  some  swarthy  IIi<);hlandman, 
on  whose  bare  head  the  scorching  beams  fall  harmless, 
and  who,  if  he  knows  you  well,  may  now  and  then 
break  silence  with  some  old  tale  or  snatch  of  song. 
Just  then  the  le2;end  of  Fraoch  Eilan  M'ill  be  most  ac- 
ceptable,  for  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  believing 
that  Loch  Awe  is  a  veritable  garden  of  the  Ilesper- 
ides  ;  and  the  boatman  will  tell  you,  as  he  rows  round 
the  little  island  of  Fraoch,  how  there  was  once  on 
that  island  an  enchanted  garden,  watched  by  a  dragon ; 
how  the  fair  Mego  longed  for  the  fruit  that  grew 
there ;  how  Fraoch,  her  lover,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
gratify  the  longing  of  his  beloved  one,  swam  the  lake 
and  fought  the  dragon  ;  and  how,  alas !  when  both 
Fraoch  and  the  monster  fell  dead  in  fight,  fair  Mego 
died  of  unutterable  grief.  It  is  a  story  for  the  bright 
days,  when  the  dog-star  foams,  and  up  above  you  the 
very  hills  seem  to  move  in  great  glorified  throbs.  In 
your  drowsy,  semi-conscious  state,  you  fully  believe  it, 
and  see  before  you  the  golden  apples  dangling,  and 
the  golden  dragon  glaring — all  a  glitter  of  gold  ;  and 
you  dip  your  kerchief  in  the  water,  and  bind  it  round 
your  brows,  and  dangle  your  arm  up  to  the  shoulder 
in  the  cool  water,  as  the  boat  glides  on,  suspended 
above  a  fathomless  abyss  of  gold  and  blue. 

But  if  Loch  Awe  can  be  hot  and  still,  it  can  also 
be  cold  and  wild.  In  windy  weather  its  enormous 
expanse  is  as  furious  as  a  great  arm  of  the  sea,  and 
the  squalls  plow  the  water  into  furrows  of  snow- 
white  foam.     On  a  dark  day  it  is  the  blackest  of  all 


THE   HEART   OF   LORNE.  57 

locLs — a  very  Acheron.  But  in  any  and  every 
wcatlier  it  preserves  Bome  kind  of  beauty,  and  lias 
ever-varying  attractions  for  the  lover  of  nature — for 
every  man,  indeed,  who  is  moved  at  all  by  the  great 
forces  of  the  world. 

Perhaps  the  finest  point  of  vantage  in  the  whole 
loch  is  Kllchurn  Castle;  and  Kilclmm,  though  beau- 
tiful exceedingly  in  dead-still  summer  weather,  ap- 
pears to  most  advantage  when  the  wind  is  high  and 
the  waters  w' ild.  The  ruin  stands  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  lake,  on  a  rock  which  was  originally  an  island, 
but  is  now  a  sort  of  peninsula,  connected  by  a  flat  al- 
luvial meadow  with  the  higher  shore  ;  and  though  its 
stones  have  been  outrageously  plundered  to  supply 
materials  for  a  church  and  an  inn  at  Dalmally, 
though  every  scrap  of  wood  it  ever  contained  has 
been  pilfered  and  burnt,  enough  of  the  old  place  still 
remains  to  spiritualize  the  whole  landscape ;  a  few 
crumbling  walls  being  enough  for  the  purpose  in 
all  such  cases.  Built  originally  at  the  time  of  the 
Crusades,  in  1440,  and  occupied  by  a  British  garrison 
as  late  as  1745,  Kilchurn  still  abides,  and  will  abide 
for  many  a  year  to  come,  if  not  altogether  demolished 
by  the  hand  of  man.  Time  has  dealt  gently  with  it, 
merely  penciling  the  walls  with  soft  lichens  and 
golden  moss ;  and  so  far  as  time  is  concerned,  it  may 
be  a  ghost  in  the  moonlight  for  a  thousand  years  to 
conne. 

Of  course,  Kilchurn  is  beautiful  in  moonlight — all 
old  castles  are,  especially  when  they  stand  close  upon 
the  water;  but  the  effects  of  moonlight,  although 
doubtless  far  more  defined  than  is  generally  supposed 


58  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

by  people  who  do  not  study  Kature  for  themselves, 
belonfij  more  to  the  imagination  than  the  eye,  if,  in- 
deed, we  are  not  continually  moved  by  moonlight  for 
peculiar  physiological  reasons,  just  as  lunatics  are 
moved,  though  in  less  measure.  Fault  has  been 
found  by  Mr.  Philip  Ilamerton  with  poets  in  general, 
and  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  particular,  because  they 
seem  to  think  that  the  moon  "  does  not  respect  local 
color,  but  translates  everything  into  black  and 
white  ;"*  and  the  same  writer  describes  very  amusing- 
ly how  he,  after  reading  Scott's  lines  about  Melrose, 
and  getting  into  the  ruins  furtively,  his  head  full  of 
melodious  rhyme,  discovered  that  the  "  ruins  gray " 
were  red;  and  was  afterward  informed  "that  the 
Minstrel  was  so  little  in  earnest  on  the  subject  as 
never  to  have  taken  the  trouble  to  drive  over  from 
Abbotsford  and  see  Melrose  for  himself,  as  he  had 
so  waimly  recommended  everybody  else  to  see  it." 
Still,  Scott  was  right,  and  Ilamerton  is  wrong,  in 
spite  of  the  false  epithet  "gray;"  for  what  Scott 
meant  to  imply  was  simply  that  moonlight  supplied  a 
certain  imaginative  mystery  ;  a  weird,  silvern  glamor, 

*  See  some  remarks  on  this  subject  in  Mr.  Hamerton'a  "  Paint- 
r-r's  Camp,"  an  admirable  book,  in  -wliich  the  attempts  to  describe 
natural  effects,  from  a  painter's  point  of  view,  are  almost  painful- 
ly lionest  and  faithful ;  painfully  bo,  because  betraying  the  dis- 
satisfaction of  an  a:'stlietic  mind  almost  convulsed  by  llio  tre- 
mendous truths  of  Nature,  driven  again  and  again  to  the  de- 
spairing fear  that  absolute  faithfulness  to  Nature  is  impossible, 
and  trying,  amidst  its  despair,  to  be  rational  at  all  hazards,  rather 
than  sentimental  over  the  inadequacy  of  human  effort.  The  re 
suit  is  a  style  curiously  blending  profound  artistic  feeling  with 
enormous  self-consciousness, and  betraying  an  alarming  leaven  of 
t-echnicality,  even  in  the  sphere  of  ideas. 


THE   HEAllT   OF   LORNE.  59 

in  which  all  old  ruina  become  most  impressive.  For 
the  same  reason, 

"  He  who  would  bco  Kilcluirn  aright 
Must  visit  it  by  pale  moonlight," 

not  on  account  of  the  effects  of  color,  though  many 
of  these,  as  Mr.  ITamerton  lias  finely  shown,  are  most 
delicately  defined  and  beautiful,  but  simply  because 
moonlight  is  in  esse  a  more  emotional  light  than  sun- 
light. 

But  on  some  dark  day,  when  Cruachan  is  black 
with  shadow,  and  the  rain-cloud  driving  past,  when 
the  loch  is  broken  into  great  waves  with  crestlike 
head  and  hollows  as  black  as  ink,  and  when  the  wild 
lines  of  the  rain  shoot  down  in  light  over  the  old  ruin, 
Kilchum  becomes  a  spirit ;  indeed,  the  almost  human 
center  of  the  scene.  Look  which  way  you  will,  it  is 
the  cynosure.  Wild  mists  cloud  the  gorges  of  the 
Pass  of  Awe,  the  wind  moans  in  the  blackness  of 
Cruachan,  and  Kilchurn,  with  the  waves  lashing  at 
its  feet,  stares  through  the  air  like  a  human  face, 
strangely  relieved  against  the  dazzling  greenness  of 
the  meadow  which  links  it  to  the  land.  What,  in- 
deed, are  all  the  effects  of  moonlight  to  that  desolate 
look  of  loneliness  and  woe,  mingled  with  secret 
strength  to  resist  the  elemental  strife? 

"  But  a  mere  footstool  to  yon  sovereign  lord, 
Huge  Cruachan  (a  thing  that  meaner  hills 
Might  crush,  nor  know  that  it  had  suffered  harm) ; 
Yet  he,  not  loth,  in  favor  of  thy  claim 
To  reverence,  suspe.nds  his  own  ;  submitting 
All  that  the  God  of  Nature  hath  conferred. 
All  that  he  holds  in  common  with  the  stars. 


to  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

To  the  memorial  majcBfy  of  Time, 
Impersonated  in  lliy  calm  decay!" 

Truly  docs  the  old  ruin  remain  paramount,  while 
mountains,  torrents,  lakes,  and  woods  unite  to  pay  it 
homage.  It  is  the  most  perfect  foreground  possible 
for  a  mountain  picture,  forming  not  only  a  poetic 
center  of  human  interest,  but  a  fine  scale  wherewith 
to  measure  the  mighty  proportions  of  the  hills  and 
the  wild  expanse  of  troubled  waters. 

The  distance  from  Inveraray  to  the  banhs  of  Loch 
Awe  is  about  sixteen  miles,  the  first  fourteen  of  which 
are  chiefly  pleasant  because  every  one  of  them  re- 
moves you  a  little  farther  from  Inveraray,  that  most 
depressing  offish-smelling  Highland  towns;  but  about 
two  miles  from  that  lake  there  is  a  wretched  hut,  the 
owner  of  which  sells — or  used  to  sell  until  very  re- 
cently— a  very  good  "dram"  to  the  pedestrian,  in- 
spired with  which  fine  spirit  he  is  ready  to  look  with 
treble  rapture  on  the  magnificent  view  from  the  top 
of  the  hill  above  Cladich.  Ben  Cruachan  towers  to 
the  heavens  in  all  his  gigantic  beauty,  with  dark 
hcatlier-clad  flanks  and  red-tinted  crags,  and  at  his 
feet  the  great  lake  stretches  broad  and  deep,  studded 
with  grassy  and  woody  islets,  which  are  green  as 
emerald  in  summer  time,  and  in  the  winter  season 
dark-red  with  the  withered  bracken  and  fern.  In  the 
time  of  snow  this  scene  becomes  strange  and  im})ress- 
ing  in  the  extreme.  The  spectator  from  the  hill  has 
a  feeling  of  being  suspended  up  in  the  air,  and  the 
sense  of  height  and  distance  conveyed  by  the  great 
white  mountain  is  almost  painful.  From  the  far-olf 
cone  of  Cruachan  a  white  smoke  of  drift-snow  rises 


THE   HEART   OF   LORNE.  61 

with  tlie  wind  and  blows  away  against  the  pale  ^rcen 
of  the  cloudless  sky.  The  dark-wooded  flanks  of  the 
mountain  contrast  with  the  white  snows  and  dim 
azure  shadows  of  the  bare  crags  and  precipices.  If 
the  lake  is  a  dead  calm,  as  is  usually  the  case  at  such 
times,  the  effect  is  still  more  mysterious,  as  every  fea- 
ture of  the  spectral  scene  is  repeated  in  a  fathomless 
gulf  of  crystal  clearness. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  is  the  little  inn  of  Cladich, 
a  cozy  nest  for  anglers  and  all  such  peace-loving 
men ;  and  close  to  the  inn  there  is  a  burn,  shaded 
with  trees  and  ferns,  and  fringed  in  spring-time  with 
primroses  and  blue-bells.  Oh  !  the  pools  of  Cladich ! 
the  nut-brown  pools,  clear  as  amber,  fed  by  little 
falls  foaming  as  white  as  snow,  and  full  of  tiny  trout 
that  dart  hither  and  thither,  with  dark  shadows  on 
the  bottom  of  polished  rock !  Many  a  bath  have  we 
taken  there  of  yore,  lying  for  hours  like  a  very  fresh- 
water Triton,  clad  as  Adam,  pipe  in  mouth ;  and 
the  friend  of  our  boyhood  in  the  next  "  bath,"  limbed 
like  a  young  fawn,  and  little  thinking  of  the  terrible 
City  by  whose  breath  he  died !  To  us,  as  we  write, 
Cladich  seemed  the  sweetest  spot  in  the  world,  and 
we  could  linger  on,  describing  its  loveliness,  page 
after  page,  calling  up  memories  of  long  summer  days 
on  the  lake,  dreamy  musings  on  the  wooded  Black 
Isles,  and  walks  by  moonlight  among  the  woods  and 
falls  behind  the  little  inn — an  inn  with  linen  milky 
white,  and  the  scent  of  heather  in  every  room,  and 
sometimes  a  plate  of  pansies  in  fresh  water  on  the 
table.  But  to  brood  over  these  happy  times  would 
be  to  weary  the  reader.     Away  from  Cladich !     Away 


62  THE   LAND   OF    LOKNE. 

by  tlie  road  that  winds  northward  along  the  shores 
of  the  lalco,  and,  after  affording  a  magnificent  view 
of  Kilcluirn,  reaches  the  village  of  Dalmally,  a  pleas- 
ant little  place,  with  a  good  inn,  a  church,  a  pictu- 
resque bridge,  and,  best  of  all,  a  solid  etone  monu- 
ment to  Duncan  Ban, 

What  Burns  is  to  the  Lowlands  of  Scotland,  Dun- 
can Ban  is  to  the  Highlands;  and  more:  for  Duncan 
never  made  a  poem,  long  or  short,  which  was  not  set 
to  a  tune,  and  he  first  sang  them  himself  as  he  wan- 
dered like  a  veritable  bard  of  old.  Duncan  Macln- 
tyre,  better  known  as  Donacha  Bun,  or  Fair-haired 
Duncan,  was  born  here  in  Glenorehay  in  1724,  and 
he  died  at  Edinburgh  in  1812,  in  the  golden  days  of 
the  "  Edinburgh  Review."  His  had  been  a  long  life, 
if  not  an  eventful  one.  For  about  forty-five  years  he 
dwelt  among  these  hills,  haunting  "  Coire  Cheat- 
haich "  at  all  hours,  and  composing  his  mountain 
music ;  and  sometimes  traveling  about  the  country 
to  collect  subscriptions  to  his  poems,  dressed  in  the 
Highland  garb,  with  a  checked  bonnet,  over  which 
hung  a  large  bushy  tail  of  a  wild  animal ;  a  badger's 
skin,  fastened  by  a  belt,  in  front ;  a  hanger  by  his 
side,  and  a  soldier's  wallet  strajjped  to  his  shoulders. 
During  these  expeditions  he  was  recognized  wherc- 
ever  he  went  by  his  peculiar  appearance.  On  one 
occasion,  a  forward  young  man  asked  him,  "  If  it  was 
he  that  made  Ben  Dourain  ?"  "No,"  replied  the  old 
man,  "  Ben  Dourain  was  made  before  you  or  I  were 
born  ;  but  I  made  a  poem  in  praise  of  Ben  Dourain." 
"  He  spoke  slowly,"  writes  the  recorder  of  the  cir- 
cumstance, "  and  seemed  to  have  no  high  opinion  of 


THE   HEART   OF    LOUNE.  O^^ 

his  own  poems,  and  said  little  of  Gaelic  poetry  ;  but 
said  that  officeiB  in  the  army  told  him  about  the 
Greek  poets,  and  Pindar  was  chiefly  admired  by 
liim."* 

When  Duncan  Ban  was  forty-four  years  of  age,  he 
dictated  his  poems  to  a  clergyman,  who  wrote  them 
down  for  publication.  For  years  they  had  been 
floating  in  the  poet's  mind  to  music  of  their  own,  and 
many  had  been  carried  from  mouth  to  mouth  across 
the  Hebrides.  They  are  simple  in  form  as  the  hills, 
as  sweet  and  gentle  in  sound  as  the  mountain  brooks, 
and  many  are  most  lengthy  and  elaborate,  just  like 
Ilio-hland  tales,  not  because  the  subject  is  great  in 
itself,  but  because  the  singer  is  so  in  love  with  it 
that  he  could  sing  about  it  forever.  "  Coire  Chea- 
thaich,  or  the  Misty  Corri,"  is  the  masterpiece,  being 
the  description  of  the  great  corri  in  Glenorchay, 
where  Duncan  loved  to  roam.  Here  it  is  in  English. 
Not  a  word  is  lost,  but  any  Highlandman  will  toll 
you  that  no  English  could  convey  the  unutterable 
tenderness  and  rich  music  of  the  original : 

COIRE  CHEATHAICH;  ok,  THE  GLEN  OF  THE  MIST. 

My  beauteous  corri !  where  cattle  wander — 

My  misty  corri !  my  darling  dell ! 
Mighty,  verdant,  and  covered  over 

With  wild  flowers  tender  of  the  sweetest  smell ; 
Dark  is  the  green  of  thy  grassy  clothing, 

Soft  swell  thy  hillocks  most  green  ajid  deep. 
The  cannach  blowing,  the  darnel  growing, 

WTiile  the  deer  troop  past  to  the  misty  steep. 

*  Mackenzie's  "  Beauties  of  Gaelic  Poetry." 


64  THE   LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

Fine  for  wear  is  thy  beauteous  mantle, 

Btrongly  woven,  and  ever-new, 
With  rough  grass  o'er  it,  and,  brightly  gleaming. 

The  grass  all  spangled  with  diamond  dew  ; 
It's  round  my  corri,  my  lovely  corri. 

Where  rushes  thicken  and  long  reeds  blow ; 
Fine  were  the  harvest  to  any  reaper 

Who  through  the  marsh  and  the  bog  could  go. 

Ah,  that's  fine  clothing  !— a  great  robe  stretching, 

A  grassy  carpet  most  smooth  and  green. 
Painted  and  fed  by  the  rain  f r«ni  heaven 

In  hues  the  bravest  that  man  has  seen — 
'Twixt  here  and  Taris,  I  do  not  fancy 

A  finer  raiment  can  ever  be — 
May  it  grow  forever  !— and,  late  and  early. 

May  1  be  here  on  the  knolls  to  see  ! 

Around  Ruadh  Awridh  what  ringlets  cluster! 

Fair,  long,  and  crested,  and  closely  twined. 
This  way  and  that  they  are  lightly  waving. 

At  eveiy  breath  of  the  mountain  wind. 
The  twisted  hemlock,  the  slanted  rye-grass. 

The  juicy  moor-grass,  can  all  be  found. 
And  the  close-set  groundsel  is  greenly  growing 

By  the  wood  where  heroes  are  sleeping  sound. 

In  yonder  ruin  once  dwelt  MacBhaidi, 

'Tis  now  a  desert  where  winds  are  shrill ; 
Yet  the  well-shaped  brown  ox  is  feeding  by  it 

Among  the  stones  that  bestrew  the  hill. 
IIow  fine  to  see,  both  in  light  and  gloaming, 

The  smooth  Clach  Fionn  so  still  and  deep. 
And  the  houseless  cattle  and  calves  most  peaceful! 

Cirouped  on  the  brow  of  the  lonely  steep. 

In  every  nook  of  the  mountain  pathway 
The  garlic  fiower  may  be  thickly  found— 

And  out  oi\  the  sunny  t-lopes  around  it 
llau"  berries  juicy  and  red  and  round— 


THE   HEART    OF   LORNE.  66 

The  penny-royal  and  dandelion, 

The  downy  cannach  together  lie — 
Tliickly  they  grow  from  the  base  of  the  mountain 

To  the  topmost  crag  of  his  crest  so  high. 

And  not  a  crag  but  is  clad  most  riclily, 

For  rich  and  silvern  the  soft  moss  clings  ; 
Fine  is  the  moss,  most  clean  and  stainless, 

Hiding  the  look  of  unlovely  things  ; 
Down  in  the  hollows  beneath  the  summit 

Where  tlie  verdure  is  growing  most  rich  and  deep. 
The  little  daisies  are  looking  upward. 

And  the  yellow  primroses  often  peep. 

Round  every  well  and  every  fountain 

An  eyebrow  dark  of  the  cress  doth  cling  ; 
And  tlie  sorrel  sour  gathers  in  clusters 

Around  the  stones  whence  the  waters  spring  ; 
With  a  splash  and  a  plunge  and  a  mountain  murmur 

The  gurgling  waters  from  earth  upleap. 
And  pause  and  hasten,  and  whirl  in  circles. 

And  rush  and  loiter,  and  whirl  and  creep  ! 

Out  of  the  ocean  comes  the  salmon. 

Steering  with  crooked  nose  he  hies. 
Hither  he  darts  where  the  waves  are  boiling — 

Out  he  springs  at  the  glistening  flies ! 
How  he  leaps  in  the  whirling  eddies ! 

With  back  blue-black,  and  fins  that  shine. 
Spangled  with,  silver,  and  speckled  over. 

With  white  tail  tipping  his  frame  so  fine  1 

Gladsome  and  grand  is  the  misty  corri. 

And  there  the  hunter  hath  noble  cheer ; 
The  powder  blazes,  the  black  lead  rattles 

Into  the  heart  of  the  dun-brown  deer  ; 
And  there  the  hunter's  hound  so  bloody 

Around  the  hunter  doth  leap  and  play. 
And  madly  rushing,  most  fierce  and  fearless, 

Springs  at  the  throat  of  the  stricken  prey. 


6G  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

Oh,  'twas  gladsome  to  go  a-liunting 

Out  in  the  dew  of  the  sunny  morn  ! 
For  the  great  red  stag  was  never  wanting. 

Nor  tlie  fawn,  nor  the  doe  with  never  a  horn. 
And  when  rain  fell  and  the  night  was  coming. 

From  the  open  heath  we  could  svviftly  fly, 
And,  finding  the  shelter  of  some  deep  grotto, 

Couch  at  ease  till  the  night  went  by. 

And  sweet  it  was  when  the  white  sun  glimmered. 

Listening  under  the  crag  to  stand — 
And  hear  the  moorhen  so  hoarsely  croaking. 

And  the  red  cock  murmuring  close  at  hand  ; 
"WTiile  the  little  wren  blew  his  tiny  trumpet. 

And  throw  his  steam  off  blithe  and  strong. 
While  the  speckled  thrush  and  the  redbreast  gaily 

Lilted  together  a  pleasant  song ! 

Not  a  singer  but  joined  the  chorus, 

Not  a  bird  in  the  leaves  was  still. 
First  the  laverock,  that  famous  singer, 

Led  the  music  with  throat  so  shrill  ; 
From  tall  tree-branches  the  blackbird  whistled, 

And  the  gray  bird  joined  with  his  sweet  "  coo-coo  ;" 
Everywhere  was  the  blithesome  chorus. 

Till  the  glen  was  murmuring  through  and  througli. 

Then  out  of  the  shelter  of  every  corri 

Ccme  forth  the  creature  whose  home  is  there  ; 
First,  proudly  stepping,  with  branching  antlers. 

The  snorting  red-deer  forsook  his  lair  ; 
Through  the  sparkling  fen  he  rushed  rejoicing. 

Or  gently  played  by  his  heart's  delight — 
The  hind  of  the  mountain,  the  sweet  brown  princess. 

So  fine,  so  dainty,  so  staid,  so  slight! 

Under  the  light  green  branches  creeping 
The  brown  doe  cropt  the  leaves  unseen. 

While  tlie  proud  buck  gravely  stared  around  him 
And  stamped  his  feet  on  his  couch  of  green  ; 


THE    HEART    OE    LOIINE.  Q*j 

Smooth  and  speckled,  with  soft  pink  nostrils. 
With  beauteous  hiiiid,  hiy  the  tiny  kid  ; 

All  apart  in  the  dewy  rushes, 

Sleeping  unseen  in  its  nest,  'twas  hid. 

My  beauteous  corri  !  my  misty  corri ! 

What  light  feet  trod  thee  in  joy  and  pride, 
What  strong  hands  gathered  thy  precious  treaaurea. 

What  great  hearts  leapt  on  thy  craggy  side  ! 
Soft  and  round  was  the  nest  they  plundered. 

Where  the  brindled  bee  his  honey  hath —  * 

Tke  speckled  bee  that  flies,  softly  humming. 

From  flower  to  flower  of  the  lonely  strath. 

There  thin-skinned,  smooth  in  clustering  bunches. 

With  sweetest  kernels  as  white  as  cream. 
From  branches  green  the  sweet  juice  drawing. 

The  nuts  were  growing  beside  the  stream — 
And  the  stream  went  dancing  merrily  onward. 

And  the  ripe  red  rowan  was  on  its  brim. 
And  gently  there  in  the  wind  of  morning 

The  new-leaved  sapling  waved  soft  and  slim. 

And  all  around  the  lovely  corri 

The  wild  birds  Sat  on  theirnests  so  neat, 
In  deep  warm  nooks  and  tufts  of  heather, 

Sheltered  by  knolls  from  the  wind  and  sleet ; 
And  there  from  their  beds,  in  the  dew  of  iho  morning. 

Uprose  the  doe  and  the  stag  of  ten. 
And  the  tall  cliffs  gleamed,  and  the  morning  reddened 

The  Coire  Cheathaich — the  Misty  Glen! 

One  such  poem  conveys,  even  in  a  translation,  a  bet- 
ter idea  of  the  writer's  mind  than  whole  chapters  of 
expository  criticism.  How  the  Highlandman  broods 
over  every  feature  of  the  darling  scene,  from  the 
weird  "mountain  ruin,  where  a  family  once  dwelt," 
down  to  the  little  wren  "  flinging  off  his  steam  "  (a 
queer  and  very  favorite  Gaelic  expression)  in  the  sun- 
shine !     Was  a  brook  ever  described  better,  as  it 


68  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

"  Pauses  and  hastens,  whirls  in  circles, 
Rushes  and  loiters,  and  whirls  and  creeps  ?" 

To  Duncan  the  corri  is  a  perpetual  feast.  With  a 
painter's  eye  he  hungers  over  the  tints  of  the  moss  on 
the  crags,  the  blue-black  back  and  silver  spangles  of 
the  salmon,  the  thin-skinned,  smooth-clustered  nuts  on 
the  green  branches,  the  dark-green  eyebrow  of  cresses 
round  the  mountain  well ;  and  to  him  also  all  the 
sounds  have  maddening  sweetness :  the  moorhen 
croaking,  the  thrushes  and  redbreasts  warbling,  the 
whole  glen  "  breathing  a  choral  strain  ; "  till  at  last, 
in  one  supreme  poetic  flash,  he  sees  the  dun  doe  and 
great  stag  springing  up  in  the  dew  of  a  May  morn- 
ing, and  the  "  red  light  "  flaming  on  every  crag  of 
the  corri.  Ilis  was  no  mere  song  for  beauty's  sake  ; 
there  was  love  at  the  heart  of  it.  To  him  the  corri 
meant  life  and  freedom,  and  the  fresh  air  of  the 
world — it  meant  youth  and  its  memories,  passion  and 
its  dreams,  deep-seated  religion  and  its  mystery.  The 
love  he  put  into  "  Coire  Cheathaich"  took  another 
form  in  Mairi  Ban  Og,  which  is  esteemed  the  finest 
love-song  in  the  Gaelic  language,  and  is  addressed, 
not  to  his  sweetheart — not  to  a  passing  mistress,  such 
as  Burns  immortalized — but  to  his  wife  ;  is,  in  a  word, 
the  epithalamium  of  Duncan,  the  Highland  forester, 
on  his  marriage  with  Maiy  "of  the  ale-house."  Every 
word  is  warm  as  sunshine,  but  holy  and  pure.  IIo 
broods  over  his  bride's  beauty  as  he  broods  over  na- 
ture, missing  no  detail,  blessing  the  "  clerk-given 
right  "  which  makes  the  beauty  all  his  own.  lie  de- 
scribes the  "soft  and  round  maiden  with  curly  hair  ; " 
her  "  breath  sweet  as  apples  growing ;  "  her  "  smooth 


THE   HEART    OF  LORNE.  09 

lidded  "  bine  eye  ;  lier  body  "  as   pure    and  white  aa 
cannach ;  "  her  warm  hand,  like  a  lady's;  her  little 
foot  in  its  tiglit-iittin<^  shoe  ;  he  tells  us  how  "  I\rairi " 
milks  the  cattle  by  the  river,  with  the  calves  leaping 
round  her  ;  how  she  wanders  light-footed  to  the  lone 
mountain  shieling;  how  she  sits  "  sewing  bands  and 
plain  seams,"  or  "  working  embroidery,"  in  the  cau- 
dle-light of  the  cottage,  at  night;  and  he  adds,  with 
true  Highland  pride,  how  she  bears  in  her  veins  the 
*'  blood   of  the   King  and  MacCailean,"  and  of  the 
Macdonald  "  who  was  chief  in  Sleat."     No  love  is  too 
deep  for  her,  no  gift  too  great ;  and   he  will   kill   for 
her  "  swans,  seals,  wild   geese,  and    all   birds  " — nay, 
she  has  but  to  give  the  word,  and  she  shall  have  the 
antlers  of  the  best  deer  in  the  forest.     Nothing   is 
more  remarkable  in  this  love-song  than  the  sacredness 
of  its  passion  ;  in  it  Duncan  Ban  has  correctly  repre- 
sented  not   only  his   own    feelings,  but   the   popular 
Highland  sentiment  about  marriage.     In  Lome  and 
Ihe  Western  Hebrides,  the  purity  of  the  popular  mind 
on  this  subject  is  most  remarkable.     The  Highlander 
may  sometimes  err  through  excess  of  animal  passion, 
but  he  is  never  consciously  indecent,  and  he  is  utterly 
innocent  of  the  "gaudriole." 

Happy  years  had  Duncan  Ban  in  Glenorchay, 
drinking  into  his  soul  every  tint  of  the  glorious  land- 
scape, and  loving  the  more  the  longer  he  looked. 
For  six  years  he  was  sergeant  in  the  Bread albane 
Fencibles,  and  when  that  regiment  was  disbanded,  in 
1T99,  he  procured,  by  the  influence  of  the  Earl  of 
.Ereadalbane,  a  place  in  the  City  Guard  of  Edinburgh, 


I 


'^0  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

those  poor  old  veterans  bo  savagely  described  hy  Fer- 
guson in  "  Leith  Kaces"  : 

"  Tlieir  etuinps,  erst  used  to  filabegp. 
Are  diglit  in  epatterdaelies, 
Wliase  bailant  hides  scarce  fend  tlieir  legs 
Fra  weet  and  weary  splashes 

0'  dirt  that  day  !  " 

lie  was  then  seventy-five  years  of  age.  About  this 
time  he  composed  a  quaint,  long  rhyme,  in  praise  of 
Dunedin,  or  Edinburgh  ;  and  the  poem,  although  not 
one  of  his  inspired  productions,  is  deeply  interesting 
from  its  quaint  touches  of  wondering  realism.  The 
old  man,  with  his  sharp  hunter's  eye,  missed  nothing, 
as  he  wandered  in  the  strange  streets.  He  describes 
the  castle,  the  battery,  the  abbey,  the  houses,  "  wealthy 
and  great ; "  the  building  of  the  parliament,  where 
"reasonable  gentlemen"  administered  justice,  with 
free  power  to  "  hang  the  offender  up  high ;  "  the 
swells  in  the  street,  with  powder  in  their  curled  hair, 
and  a  "  bunch  like  silk  on  the  top ;  "  the  pretty 
ladies,  with  stays  to  keep  them  straight  and  thin, 
beauty-spots  on  their  faces,  strong,  tight,  and  pointed 
shoes,  with  (adds  the  poet)  "  heels  much  too  high  ;  " 
the  coaches,  and  the  hard-hoofed  horses  frisking  and 
prancing,  so  much  finer  than  any  reared  on  Highland 
pastures.  All  this  was  pleasing  for  a  time,  while  it 
had  the  charm  of  novelty ;  but,  doubtless,  the  heart 
of  the  old  bard  wearied  for  the  hills.  Some  years 
after,  on  the  19th  of  September,  1802,  he  visited 
hi3  heme,  and  wandered  a  long  day  among  the 
scenes  he  loved  bo  well,  and  then  and  there  composed 


THE    HEAIIT   OF    LORNE.  "71 

the  most  beautiful  of  all  his  poems — "  The  Last  Fare- 
well to  the  Hills."   He  was  then  seventy-eight  years  old. 

THE   LAST   ADIEU    TO   THE   HILLS. 

Yestreen  I  stood  on  Ben  Dorain,  and  paced  its  dark-gray  patli  ; 
Was  there  a  lull  I  did  not  know — a  glen,  or   grassy  strath  ? 
Oh  I  gladly  in  the  times  of  old  I  trod  that  glorious  ground. 
And  the  white  dawn  melted   in  the  sun,  and  the  red-deer  cried 
around. 

How  finely  swept  the  noble  deer  across  the  morning  hill. 

While  fearless  played  the  fawn  and  doe  beside  the  running  rill  ; 

I  heard  the  olack  and  red  cock  crow,  and  the  bellowing  of  the 

deer — 
I  think  those  are  the  sweetest  sounds    that  man   at   dawn  may 

hear. 

Oh  !  wildly,  as  the  bright  day  gleamed,  I  climbed  the   mountaiu'a 

breast. 
And  when  I  to  my  home  returned,  the  sun  was  in  the  west ; 
'Twas  health  and  strength,  'twas  life  and  joy  to  wander    freely 

there. 
To  drink  at  the  fresh  mountain  stream,  to  breathe  the  mountain 

air. 

And  oft  I'd  shelter  for  a  time  within  some  shieling  low. 

And  gladly  sport  in  woman's  smile,  and  woman's  kindness  know. 

Ah  !  'twas  not  likely  one  could  feel  for  long  a  joy  so  gay ! 

The  hour  of  parting  came  full  soon — I  sighed,  and  went  away. 

And  now  the  cankered  withering  wind  has  struck    my  limbs  at 

last ; 
My  teeth  are  rotten  and  decayed,  my  sight  is  failing  fast  ; 
If  hither  now  the  chase  should  come,  'tis  little  I  could  do ; 
Though  I  were  hungering  for  food,  I  could  not  now  pursue. 

But  though  my  locks  are  hoar  and  thin,  my  beard  and  whiskers 

white. 
How  often  have  1  chased  the  stag  with  dogs  full  swift  of  flight  I 
And  yet,  although  I  could  not  join  the  chase  if  here  it  came. 
The  thought  of  it  is  charming  still  and  sets  my  heart  on  flame. 


"72  THE    LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

Ah !  much  &s  I  have  done  of  old,  how  ill  could  I  wend  now, 
By  glon,  and  strath,  and  rocky  path,  up  to  the  mountain's  browt 
How  ill  could  I  the  mierry  cup  quaff  deep  in  social  cheer  ! 
How  ill  now  could  I  sing  a  song  in  the  gloaming  of  the  year  I 

Those  were  the  merry  days  of  spring,  the  thoughtless  tintes  of 

youth ; 
'Tis  Fortune  watches  over  us,  and  helps  our  need,  forsooth  ; 
Believing  that,  though  poor  enough,  contentedly  I  live, 
For  George's  daughter,  every  day,  my  meat  and  drink  doth  give.* 

Yestreen  I  wandered  in  the  glen  ;    what  thoughts   were  in  my 

head ! 
There  had  I  walked  with  friends  of  yore — where  are  those  dear 

ones  fled  ? 
I  looked  and  looked ;  where'er  I  looked  was  naught  but  sheep  f 

sheep  I  sheep  ! 
A  woeful  change  was  in  the  hill !     World,  thy  deceit  was  deep  1 

From  side  to  side  I  turned  mine  eyes — alas !  my  soul  was  sore — 
The  mountain  bloom,  the  forest's  ])ride,  the  old  men  were  no 

more. 
Nay,  not  one  antlered  stag  was  there,  nor  doe  so  soft  and  slight. 
No  bird  to  fill  the  hunter's  bag — all,  all  were  fled  from  sight ! 

Farewell,  ye   forests  of  the  heath!  hills  where  the  bright  day 

gleams  ! 
Farewell,  ye    grassy    dells !     farewell,  ye    springs    and  leaping 

streams! 
Farewell,  ye  mighty  solitudes,  where  once  I  loved  to  dwell — 
Scenes  of  my  spring-time  and  its  joys — forever  fare  you  well! 

After  that,  Duncan  Ban  returned  to  Edinburgh, 
and  remained  in  the  City  Guard  till  about  180G,  when, 
having  saved  a  lew  pounds  from  his  wages  and  the 

*"  George's  daughter "  was  the  musket  carried  by  him  as  a 
member  of  the  City  Guard,  and  servant  of  King  George.  The 
value  of  his  "  meat  and  drink  "  was  fivcpenco  or  sixpence  a  day. 


THE    IIEAUT    01"   LOUNK.  73 

profits  of  liis  published  poems,  he  was  enabled  to  re- 
tire and  spend  his  remaining  years  without  toil  of  any 
kind.  lie  was  eighty-eight  years  old  when  he  died, 
On  the  IDth  of  May,  1812,  he  was  buried  in  the  Grey- 
friars'  Burying  Ground,  Edinlnirgh ;  and  a  few  years 
ago  the  monument  was  raised  to  his  memory  in  Glen- 
orchay.  Ilis  fame  endures  wherever  the  Gaelic  lan- 
guage is  spoken,  and  his  songs  are  sung  all  over  the 
civilized  world.  Without  the  bitterness  and  intellect- 
ual power  of  Burns,  he  possessed  much  of  his  senti- 
ment, and  all  of  his  personal  tenderness ;  and  as  a 
literary  prodigy,  who  could  not  even  write,  he  is  still 
more  remarkable  than  Burns.  Moreover,  the  old, 
simple-hearted  forester,  with  his  fresh  love  of  nature, 
his  shrewd  insight,  and  his  impassioned  speech,  seems 
a  far  completer  human  figure  than  the  Ayrshire 
plowman,  who  was  doubtless  a  glorious  creature, 
but  most  obtrusive  in  his  independence.  Poor  old 
Duncan  was  never  bitter.  The  world  was  wonderful, 
and  he  was  content  to  fill  his  humble  place  in  it.  lie 
had  "  an  independent  mind,"  but  was  quite  friendly 
to  rank  and  power  wherever  he  saw  them  ;  for,  after 
all,  what  were  they  to  Coire  Cheathaich,  with  its  nat- 
ural splendors  ?  What  was  the  finest  robe  in  Dun- 
edin  to  the  gay  clothing  on  the  side  of  Ben  Dorain  ! 
Bm*ns  never  saw  Nature  as  Duncan  Ban  saw  her ;  was 
never  merged  into  her,  so  to  speak,  never  became  a 
part  of  flying  cloud  and  brooding  shadows ;  rather 
petted  and  fondled  her  like  a  mistress,  with  most  un- 
utterable tenderness,  but  no  awe.  Burns  was  the  in- 
tellectual being,  man,  lord  of  the  earth  and  all  its 
creatures,  their  lover  till  the  end,  but  always  their 


74  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

lord  ;  bitter  witli  the  world,  bitter  with  his  own  sins ; 
too  proud  to  gauge  ale-barrels,  but  not  too  proud  to 
get  dead  drunk  or  to  debauch  women  ;  hurled  down 
like  a  torrent  by  his  own  sheer  force  and  strength,  a 
divine  singer,  a  shameless  satirist,  the  lover  of"  Mary 
in  heaven,"  and  the  undoubted  author  of  some  of  the 
filthiest "  suppressed  poems  "  in  the  "  Merry  Muses."* 
Duncan  Ban  "  of  the  Songs  "  was  a  silent  man,  not 
specially  intellectual,  content  to  hawk  his  poems 
about  tlie  country,  and  sing  them  at  the  fireside,  with 
scarce  a  touch  of  satire  in  his  whole  nature,  with  a 
heart  quite  pure  and  fresh  to  the  end,  when,  as  an  old 
man,  he  bade  the  hills  "  farewell  forever."  In  the 
life  of  Burns  we  see  the  light  striking  through  the 
Btonn-cloud,  lurid,  terrific,  yet  always  light  from  heav- 
en. In  the  life  of  Duncan  Ban  there  is  nothing  but 
a  gray  light  of  peace  and  purity,  such  as  broods  over 
the  mountains  when  the  winds  are  laid.  Burns  was 
the  mightier  poet,  the  grander  human  soul ;  but  many 
who  love  him  best,  and  cherish  his  memory  most  ten- 
derly, can  find  a  place  in  their  hearts  for  Duncan  Ban 
as  well. 

As  we  quit  the  Highland  poet's  grave,  and  follow 
the  highway  to  the  Pass  of  Awe,  there  is  other  music 
in  our  ears  besides  that  of  "  Coire  Cheathaich"  and 
the  "  Last  Farewell ;"  for  did  not  tlic  "  Children  of  the 
Mist,"  haunting  like  mountain  deer  the  secret  gorges 
of  Cruachan,  utter  many  a  lyrical  plaint  full  of  music 

*  The  woefullest  picture  in  the  worhl  is  the  last  portrait  of 
Burns,  wliich  we  regret  to  sec  inserted  in  Dr.  P.  II.  Waddell's 
otherwise  invaluable  edition  of  the  poet's  works.  This  portrait, 
once  seen,  haunts  the  beholder  for  ever. 


THE    HEART    OF   LORNE.  75 

and  heart's  agony  ?  Keaders  of  tlie  "  Legend  of  Mon- 
trose "  and  tlie  "Lady  of  the  Lake"  know  now  by 
heart  the  wrongs  of  tlie  Macgregors,  the  "  clan  that 
was  nameless  by  day;"  and  Gaelic  literature  abounds 
with  songs  recording  the  sufierings  and  threats  of  the 
bloody  outlawed  clans — songs  most  weird  and  terri- 
ble, with  frequent  glimpses  of  wild  tenderness.  One 
of  the  best  of  these  is  the  "  Hills  of  the  Mist,"  the  tra- 
dition concerning  which  states  that  tlie  singer,  after 
having  hidden  her  hunted  kinsmen  in  a  bed  within  the 
mountain  shieling,  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  crooned 
to  herself  a  song  bewailing  their  non-apjpearance  : 

"  Oh,  where  are  my  kinsmen  ?  Oh,  where  do  tliey  wander  ? 
I  Avatch  for  them  lonely  ;  I  wait  and  I  ponder." 

And  the  pursuers,  listening  outside  and  noting  the 
terrible  agony  of  her  voice  (no  counterfeit  that,  for 
might  not  the  butchers  enter  at  anv  moment  and  de- 
tect  her  ruse  ?)  passed  on  in  the  darkness  without 
searching  the  shieling. 

The  Pass  of  Awe  is  very  beautiful,  the  road  wind- 
ing high  up  among  the  crags  and  woods  and  overlook- 
ing the  wild  waters  of  the  river.  Close  to  the  bridire 
which  spans  the  stream  took  place  the  famous  fight 
between  Bruce's  followers  and  those  of  John  of  Lome, 
when  the  bodies  of  the  latter,  miserably  overthrown, 
choked  and  rendered  bloody  the  impetuous  flood. 
Along  this  path  walked  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol,  escorted 
by  the  exuberant  Donald  Macleish,  on  that  memorable 
occasion  when  she  saw  the  tree,  the  waterfall,  and  the 
solitary  human  figure — "  a  female  form  seated  by  the 
stem  of  the  oak,  with  her  head  drooping,  her  hands 


1Q  THE    LAND    OF    LOIINE. 

clasped,  and  a  dark-colored  mantle  drawn  over  her 
licad,  exactly  as  Judith  is  represented  in  the  Syrian 
medals  as  seated  under  her  palm-tree."''^  The  form 
of  the  miserable  woman,  still  as  a  corpse  or  a  marble 
statue,  haunts  the  eye  of  the  traveler  at  every  step  ; 
rock,  tree,  and  falling  water  assume  her  likeness ;  and 
the  ear  is  filled  with  her  memorable  words  of  grief — 

"  My  beautiful !  my  brave !" 

There  is  no  shape  of  fiction  so  closely  wedded  to  an 
actual  scene.  The  Pass  of  Awe  and  the  Highland 
Widow  are  inseparable.  The  one  solitary  human 
soul,  in  its  unutterable  dolor,  surrounded  by  somber 
crags  and  corries,  and  water  plunging  from  pool  to 
pool  with  sullen  roar,  is  more  truly  regent  of  the 
place  than  all  the  traditional  figures  of  clansmen  and 
Children  of  the  Mist. 

Following  the  road  along  the  Pass  of  Awe,  you 
reach  Tyanuilt,  whence  the  ascent  of  Ben  Cruachan  is 
tolerably  easy.  Mountain  climbing  is  always  glorious, 
be  the  view  obtained  at  the  highest  point  ever  so  un- 
satisfactory ;  for  do  not  pictures  arise  at  every  step, 
beautiful  exceedingly,  even  if  no  more  complex  than 
a  silver-lichened  boulder  half  buried  in  purple  heather 
and  resting  against  the  light-blue  mountain  air ;  or  a 
mountain  pool  fringed  with  golden  mosses  and  green 
cresses,  with  blue  sky  in  it  and  a  small  white  cloud 
I'ke  a  lamb  ;  or  a  rowan  tree  with  berries  red  as  coral, 
sheltering  the  mossy  bank  where  the  robin  sits  in  his 
nest?  He  who  climbs  Cruachan  will  see  not  only 
these  small  things,  but  he  will  behold  a  series  of  crag 

*  Scott's  "  Highland  Widow." 


THE    HEART  OF    LOllNE.  77 

pictures  of  iinapproticliable  magnificence — coiTies  red 
and  ruffcred,  in  the  dark  iissures  of  wliiclisnow  Hnircrs 
even  as  late  as  June,  pyramids  and  minarets  of  granite 
glistering  in  the  sunshine  through  the  moisture  of  their 
own  dew,  stained  by  rain  and  light  into  darkly  beauti- 
ful hues,  and  speckled  by  iimumerable  shadows  from 
the  passing  clouds.      There  is  a   certain   danger   in 
roaming  among  the  precipices  near  the  summit,  as  the 
hill  is  subject  to   sudden  mists,  sometimes  so  dense 
that  the  pedestrian  can  scarcely  see  a  foot  before  him ; 
but  in  summer-time,  when  the  heights  are  clear  as 
amber  for  days  togetlier,  the  peril  is  not  worth  calcu- 
latiu"".     On  a  fine,  clear  day,  the  view  from  the  sum- 
mit — which  is  a  veritable  red  ridge  or  cone,  not  a  fiat 
table-land  like  that  of  some  mountains — is  very  pecu- 
liar.    It  can.  scarcely  be  called  picturesque,  for  there 
is  no  power  in  the  eye  to  fix  on  any  one  picture ;  and^ 
on  the  other  hand,  to  liken  it  to  a  map  of  many  colors 
would  be  conveying  a  false  impression.     The  effect  is 
more  that  of  a  map  than  of  a  picture,  and  more  like 
the  sea  than  either.     Tlie  spectator  loses  the  delicate 
sesthetic  sense,  and  feels  his  whole  vision  swallowed  up 
in   immensity.     The  mighty  waters  of  Awe   brood 
sheer  below  him,  under  the  dark  abysses  of  the  hill, 
with  the  islands  like  dark  spots  upon  the  surface. 
Away  to  the  eastward  rise  peaks  innumerable,  moun- 
tain beyond  mountain,  from  the  moor  of  Rannoch  to 
Ben  Lomond,  some  dark  as  night  with  shadow,  others 
dim  as  dawn  from  sheer  distance,  all  floating  limitless 
against  a  pink  horizon  and  brooded  over  by  a  heaven 
of  most  delicate  blue,  fading  away  into  miraculous 
tints,  and  filling  the  spirit  with  intensest  awe ;    while 


"78  THE    LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

in  tlio  west  is  visible  the  great  ocean,  stretching  armH 
of  shining  sheen  into  the  wildlj  broken  coiist,  bright- 
ening around  the  isles  that  sleep  upon  its  breast — 
Tiree,  Coll,  Rum,  Canna,  Skye — and  fading  into  a 
long  vaporous  line  where  the  setting  sun  sinks  into 
the  underworld.  Turn  where  it  may,  the  eye  ip  satis- 
fied, overcharged.  Such  another  panorama  of  lake, 
mountain,  and  ocean  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  High- 
lands. As  for  Lome,  you  may  now  behold  it  indeed, 
gleaming  with  estuaries  and  lakes — Loch  Linnho,  the 
Bay  of  Oban,  and  the  mighty  Firth  as  far  south 
as  Jura,  and,  northward  over  the  moors,  a  divine 
glimpse  of  the  head  of  Loch  Etive,  blue  and  dreamy 
as  a  maiden's  eyes.  The  head  swims,  the  eyes  dazzle. 
Are  you  a  god,  that  you  should  survey  these  wonders 
in  such  supremacy?  Look  which  way  you  will,  you 
behold  immensity — measureless  ranges  of  mountains, 
measureless  tracts  of  inland  water,  the  measureless 
ocean,  lighted  here  and  there  by  humanity  in  the 
sliape  of  some  passing  sail  smaller  to  view  than  a  sea- 
bird's  wing.  For  some  little  time  at  least  the  specta- 
tor feels  that  spiritual  exhaltation  which  excludes 
perfect  human  perception ;  he  yields  to  a  wave  of 
awful  emotion,  and  bows  before  it  as  before  God.  He 
can  be  sestiietic  again  when  he  once  more  descends  to 
the  valleys. 


SPORT  ON  THE  MOO  US  AND  LOCHS.      T^ 


CTTAPTEU  W. 

SPORT    OX    TIIK    MOORS    AND    LOCHS. 

Grouso  and  Black-gamo  Shooting — A  September  Day  on  the  Moors — Tho 
Grouse-shooter — Peat  Bogs — Arrival  of  Snipo  and  Woodcock — Moun- 
tain Lochs  and  other  Haunts  of  Wild-fowl — False  and  Tnio  Sportsmen. 

Sport  on  the  moors  of  Lome  is  what  sport  should 
be — a  great  deal  more  like  wild-shooting  than  is  gen- 
erally the  case  on  the  great  moors  of  the  north.  The 
game  is  not  numerous,  but  strong,  wary,  full  of  health 
and  strength.  There  is  no  overcrowding,  as  on  the 
Perthshire  and  Aberdeenshire  moors.  In  addition  to 
Argyllshire  grouse,  bright,  rufus-breasted,  full-chested, 
altogether  the  finest  bird  to  be  found  in  this  country, 
and  beyond  all  measure  superior  to  the  smaller-sized 
and  darker-plumaged  bird  of  the  eastern  moors,  there 
are  black -game  in  abundance,  a  few  partridges,  brown 
and  blue  hares,  a  sprinkling  of  snipe,  and  a  large 
number  of  wild-fowl,  Koe-deers  are  plentiful  in 
some  districts,  but  the  red-deer  is  seldom  found.  The 
%alino  ferox  abounds  in  Loch  Awe,  and  all  the  rivers 
afibrd  more  or  less  salmon  angling,  while  many  of  the 
small  mountain  lochs  are  as  full  of  excellent  trout  as 
a  pond  in  Surrey  is  full  of  sticklebacks.  TVe  have 
heard  greedy  sportsmen,  used  to  wholesale  butchery 
of  bird  and  beast,  complain  of  the  barrenness  of  Lome, 
and  certainly  Lome  is  barren  as  compared  with  the 


80  .        THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

great  moors  fnrther  north ;  tliongh  it  has  this  one 
great  advantage,  tliat  it  affords  excellent  sport  long 
after  the  birds  have  packed  elsewhere,  and  not  a  shot 
is  to  be  had  except  by  driving.  In  Lome,  moreover, 
the  game  in  no  way  injures  the  population — is  not 
numerous  enough  to  ruin  the  farmer  and  poor  crofter; 
is  not  valuable  enough  to  be  preserved  at  the  cost  of 
human  lives.  Any  true  sportsman  will  find  his  appe- 
tite fully  gratified,  though  not  by  enormous  "  bags." 
All  his  skill  will  come  into  requisition — all  his  lacul- 
ties  will  be  duly  tested. 

Yearly,  when  the  12th  of  August  dawns,  the 
sound  of  shootino;  echoes  from  hill  to  hill,  over  the 
purple  sea  of  moorland  that  surrounds  the  TVTiito 
House  on  the  Hill ;  and  the  dogs  leap  eagerly  in  (ho 
kennel  v/henever  their  master  passes;  and  overhead, 
on  the  top  of  the  knoll,  a  cock-grouse  crows  cheerily 
in  the  sunshine.  But  the  Wanderer  is  not  to  be  tempt- 
ed. The  20t]i  of  August  is  time  enough  to  touch 
grouse  in  most  seasons  ;  and  the  black -game  should 
invariably  be  left  in  peace  till  the  1st  of  September. 
Of  course,  where  the  object  is  merely  to  secure  a 
larjie  number  of  birds,  the  earlier  in  the  season  one 
commences  the  better;  but  it  is  scarcely  conceivable 
how  any  rational  being  can  find  pleasure  in  butcher- 
ing a  poor  bird  when  it  is  no  bigger  than  a  chicken 
and  a  great  deal  stupider,  and  when  it  is  as  easily  liit 
as  a  target  at  thirty  yards.  Grouse-shooting  is  poor 
sport  till  the  birds  run  well,  instead  of  lying  like 
Btones  at  the  mere  sound  of  a  distant  footstep,  and  till 
they  rise  on  the  wing,  swift  and  strong  as  an  old  cock, 
directly  after  the  dog  has  fairly  ennsed  them  to  draw 


SrOllT    ON  THE    MOOIiS    AND    LOGlIiS.  «1 

together  and  crouch.     Black-game  shooting  on  the 
moors  is  miiuanly  sport.     Tlie  birds  won't  got  up, 
and  are  again  and  again  collared  l)y  the  over-eager 
dog,  and  when  they  do  rise,  early  in  the  season,  why, 
a  boy  miglit  hit  them  with  a  pea-shooter  as  thty^  dash 
clumsily  away.     But  black-game  shooting  at  evening 
fliglit,  when  the  birds  are  wild  beyond  measure,  and 
come  down  in  hundreds  to  feed  on  the  corn  sheaves,  is 
quite  another  sort  of  sport,  worthy  of  any  man  with  a 
clear  eye  and  steady  nerves.     By  this  time  the  young 
cock  is  getting  something  like  his  adult  plumage,  and 
is  a  fair  prize,  both  as  an  edible  and  for  the  sake  of 
his  feathers.     He    is   wonderfully   wary    and   keen- 
sighted  when  feeding  on  the  ground,  but  will  seldom 
break  his  flight.     Often  on  the  moors,  while  lunching 
in  the  shade  of  some  woody  knoll,  we  have  been  dis- 
turbed by  a  flock  of  black-game  whizzing  past,  one 
after  another,  a  few  yards  distant,  and  not  altering 
their  course  by  an  inch,  even  when  they  perceived 
their  danger  and  saw  some  of    the    advance-guard 
dropping  stone-dead  to  the  flash  and  report  of  the 
gun. 

On  some  morning  in  the  month  of  September,  the 
moor  is  in  all  its  glory,  stretching  its  mighty  billows 
in  all  directions  in  one  streak  of  luxurious  purple  and 
glittering  green,  broken  up  here  and  there  by  great 
rocks  and  lichened  cra2:s,  and  all  flooded  with  the  lio;ht 
of  the  sun.  The  sportsman  sweats  and  pants,  the 
dogs  hang  out  their  tongues  and  work  heavily,  un- 
guided  by  a  breath  of  wind ;  the  gillie  lies  on  his 
stomach  and  dips  his  heated  face  in  every  burn ;  and 
hy  midday  you  have  killed  perhaps  a  couple  of  brace 


82 


THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 


of  birds.     Then  comes  the  long  delicious  siesta  hj 
the  brink  of  some  crystal  pool  of  the  stream,  and 
(after  the  lightest  possible  lunch)  the  pipe  or  cigar, 
in  the  enjoyment  of  which  you  lie  on  your  side  in 
the  dry  old  heather,  and  watch  the  small  shadows, 
cast  by  clouds  as  white  as  wool,  moving  noiselessly 
and  sleepily  over  the  free  expanse  of  the  heath — 
brooding  at  times  as  still  as  stones — at  times  hasten- 
ing together  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  with  the  golden 
gleam  on  every  side  of  them.     If  you  are  fortunate, 
about  this  time  there  comes  a  shower;  just  a  sprink- 
ling for  a  few  minutes,  soft  as  dew  on  the  grass  at 
dawn,    scented   as    a   maiden's    breath.     The   moor 
sparkles,  the  air  feels  fresh  and  free,  and  when  you 
loosen  the  dogs,  they  no  longer  toil  wearily  with  loll- 
ing  tongues,  but   work   in   narrowing   runs   up  the 
faintest   possible   breath   of    wind,  draw   swift   and 
steady  to  the  deep  patch  whither  the  pack  have  run, 
and  become  all  in  a  moment  rigid,  with  fixed  eyes 
and  dilating  nostrils.     Now  and  again,  in  such  weath- 
er, the  best  dog  in  the  world   will  miss  his  game, 
or,  running  unawares  into  the  thick  of  them,  scat- 
ter them  like  chaff.     Of  course,  as  is   well  known, 
each  member  of  the  broken  pack  will,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  season,  lie  like  a  stone,  wherever  you 
mark  it  down,  and  sometimes  almost  suffer  you  to 
seize   it   with    your    hand.     As    the   day    advances, 
and  the  heat  lessens,  the  bag  increases;   and  about 
sunset,  when    the  birds  liave  left   the  springy  bogs 
and  betaken  themselves  to  the  dry  knolls  of  young 
heather    to   feed,   you   will    have   sport    in    perfec- 
tion. 


SPOUTS    ON    THE    MOORS    AND    LOCHS.  8:3 

The  signs  of  a  good  grouse-shooter  are  few  and  un- 
mistakable, lie  must  be  a  steady  walker,  not  so 
swift  as  to  weary  the  dogs,  not  slow  enough  to  fij)oil 
them,  and  not  given  to  puffing  like  a  porpoise  when 
climbing  the  hillside.  He  must  be  a  good  snap 
shot,  ready  at  any  moment  to  take  a  chance  when 
it  comes,  with  or  without  a  point ;  he  must  account 
for  two  birds  out  of  every  pack  that  rises ;  and  he 
should  kill  his  birds,  dead.  He  must  be  silent,  for 
talking,  above  all  things,  spoils  sport;  sober,  for 
dram-drinkinsr  endanjieis  both  himself  and  his  com- 
panions ;  good-humored,  or  the  keepers  and  gillies 
will  hate  him  and  spoil  his  chance  whenever  they 
can ;  and,  above  all,  humane,  never  shooting  at  a 
bird  with  the  faintest  chance  of  merely  wounding  it 
and  letting  it  get  away  to  die.  In  addition  to  all 
this,  he  must  be  a  man  to  whom  the  moor  is  familiar 
at  all  seasons,  who  knows  the  haunts  of  birds  in  all 
sorts  of  weathers,  who  understands  the  whole  theory 
of  heather-burning,  who  is  as  well  acquainted  with 
every  natural  sign  as  the  mountain-shepherd  him- 
self. Most  men,  of  course,  leave  all  things  to  their 
keepers,  come  to  their  moor  on  the  12th,  and  are 
taken  about  in  due  course  at  the  beck  and  nod  of 
"  Donald."  Some  of  those  men  shoot  well ;  few  of 
them  are  worthy  of  the  name  of  sportsmen.  Merely 
to  be  able  to  present  a  gun  and  knock  down  a  mark 
is  a  feat  that  any  "  hedge-popper"  can  attain.  Prac- 
tical knowledge,  loving  observation  of  nature,  power 
of  silence,  take  time  to  grow  ;  but  they  are  essential. 
In  addition  to  them  may  be  mentioned  a  certain 
capacity  of   enduring   physical   discomfort,  without 


84  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

which  the  grouse-shooter  is  no  better  than  any  pigeon- 
killer  in  the  suburbs  of  London. 

There  are  no  very  bad  bogs  in  Lome,  though  occa- 
sionally, while  grouse-shooting,  we  have  seen  a  broth- 
er sportsman  disappear  almost  up  to  the  arm-pits, 
and  dragged  him  with  some  difficulty  out  of  the  oozy 
earth  and  green,  slimy  subterranean  pools.     In  hot 
weather,  the  grouse  frequent  the  parts  where  the  peat 
is  cut  and  piled,  and  drink  at  the  black  pools  in  the 
hollows.     At  this  time,  the  black-game  come  there 
also  for  the  same  pm-pose.     In   a   "  peat-bog "   not 
fifty  yards  square,  we  have  put  up  from  twenty  to 
thirty  black -game  singly,  each  crouching  unseen  till 
fairly  run  upon  by  the  dog,  and  consisting  of  several 
old  hens  and  their  packs  of  young.     They  will  lie, 
too,  in  the  queerest  holes  imaginable,  on  the  sides  of 
ditches.     We  have  seen  our  setter  rigid  and  moveless 
over  a  hole  where  only  a  water-rat  might  be  expect- 
ed to  dwell,  and  where  a  gray  hen  was  huddled  up 
for   the   sake  of  the  coolness    and  shade.     The  old 
cock  is  never  to  be  found  in  such  places.     lie  broods 
alone  and  sulky,  in  some  spot  where  he  can  have 
a  free  flight  out  of  the  way  of  danger.     The  most  fa- 
vorite of  all  places  for  young  black-game  in  the  heat 
of  the  day  are  the  deep  patches  of  bracken  and  fern 
on  the  moor,  where  they  can  run  about  with  a  very 
forest  of  greenness  above  their  heads;  but  they  soon 
learn  to  prefer  the  corn-fields,  from  the  fact  that  the 
latter  combine  both  food  and  shelter.     Many  sports- 
men greatly  annoy  the  firmer  by  covertly  sending 
their  dogs  into  the  standing  com,  and  shooting  the 
Btartled  binls  from  the  edges.     This  practice  is  most 


SPOUT    ON    THE    MOOKS    AND    L0CII8.  86 

repre]icnsl])lc,  and  slioiild  be  discountenanced  by  all 
true  sportsmen.  Any  tiling  that  interferes,  however 
Blightly,  with  the  rights  of  others,  should  be  aban- 
doned; and  the  farmer's  crop  is  of  infinitely  more 
importance  to  the  world  than  the  shooter's  game- 
bag. 

But  we  arc  being  betrayed  into  a  treatise  on 
grouse-shooting,  whereas  it  is  merely  our  intention 
to  sketch  in  a  general  way  the  possibilities  of  sport  in 
Lome. 

As  the  season  advances,  tlie  birds  grow  scarcer  and 
scarcer — less  and  less  approachable.  A  white  frost 
sometimes  tames  the  red  grouse,  never  the  black ;  and 
both  sooner  or  later  form  into  great  packs,  which 
pass  away  like  a  cloud,  long  ere  the  sportsman  gets 
within  gun-range.  A  little  may  be  done  by  dri\dng, 
but  not  much.  Instead  of  harassing  the  grouse  late 
in  the  season,  it  is  better  to  turn  one's  attention  to 
other  game.  Hares  and  rabbits  abound  in  many  dis- 
tricts, especially  the  blue  hare,  which  goes  to  earth 
like  a  cony.  About  November  the  local  snipe,  rein- 
forced by  legions  from  the  north,  swarm  in  all  the 
bogs  and  marshes,  unless  it  is  very  wet,  when  they 
scatter  in  every  direction  over  the  damp  hillsides. 
One  fine  night  the  little  "jacks"  arrive,  sprinkling 
themselves  all  over  the  country,  and  offering  chance 
after  chance,  in  their  peculiar  fashion,  to  blundering 
sportsmen.  Last  of  all  come  the  woodcocks,  two  or 
three  at  a  time — first  taking  to  the  deep  clumps  on  the 
hillside,  and  afterward  selecting  winter  quarters  by 
the  side  of  the  ninlcts  that  water  the  hazel-woods. 
Many  of  them,  however,  only  rest   a  few  days   in 


^  THE   LAND    OF    LOliNE. 

Lome,  and  then  disappear,  in  all  prol)ability  winging 
farther  sonth.  Those  which  linger  through  the  whole 
winter  often  remain  to  breed  in  the  spring. 

The  lochs  amono;  the  hills  abound  in  wild-fowl, 
many  of  which  breed  there.  There  is  one  small  mere, 
not  a  mile  distant  from  the  White  House  on  the  Hill, 
which  we  have  seen  as  thickly  covered  with  teal  and 
widgeon  as  a  duckpond  in  the  Zoological  Gardens. 
At  such  times,  however,  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to 
get  a  shot ;  so  numerous  are  the  eyes  watching,  and 
so  easily  do  the  birds  take  the  alarm,  that  "  sitting- 
shots  "  are  out  of  the  question.  The  best  plan  is  for 
the  sportsman  to  place  himself  in  ambush,  at  one  end 
of  the  water,  send  his  man  to  disturb  the  birds  at 
the  other,  and  trust  to  chance  for  a  shot  flying.  If 
the  affair  is  properly  managed,  ho  may  fire  five  or  six 
times,  as  fast  as  he  can  load  ;  and  perhaps  the  teal, 
less  waiy  than  the  larger  duck,  may  alight  on  the 
water,  within  a  few  yards  of  his  ambush.  Directly 
frost  comes,  the  small  lochs  are  abandoned,  and  the 
wild-fowl  betake  themselves  to  the  arms  of  the  sea. 
In  a  severe  season,  when  all  the  fresh-water  meres  are 
frozen  over,  the  salt-water  lochs  afford  excellent  sport ; 
the  better,  in  our  opinion,  because  the  birds  are  wild 
beyond  measure,  and  will  test  all  the  shooter's  powers 
of  skill  and  patience. 

We  will  not  detain  the  reader  by  any  further  enu- 
meration of  the  sports  of  Lome,  particularly  as  our 
notion  of  sport  is  peculiar,  and  lias  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  the  ideas  of  men  who  delight  in  slauirhter. 
To  us,  sport  is  only  desirable  in  so  far  as  it  develops 
all  that  is  best  and  strongest  in  a  man's  physical  na- 


SrORT   ON   THE   MOORS   AND    L0CH8.  87 

ture,  tries  his  powers  of  sclf-patiencc  and  endurance, 
quickens  his  senses,  and  increases  his  knowledge  of 
and  reverence  for  created  things.  In  bo  far  as  it 
renders  him  callous  to  suffering  and  selfish  in  his  en- 
joyments, sport  is  detestable.  There  are  yearly  let 
loose  upon  the  moors  of  Scotland  a  set  of  men  who 
are  infinitely  less  noble  than  the  beasts  and  birds  they 
murder  ;  who  are  brutal  without  courage,  and  conceit- 
ed without  dignity  ;  who  degrade  all  manly  sports  by 
their  abominable  indifference  to  the  rights  alike  of 
fellow-men  and  dumb  creatures.  Fortunately,  all 
sportsmen  in  Scotland  are  not  men  of  this  sort ;  a  few 
fine-souled  gentlemen  are  sprinkled  here  and  there ; 
but  there  is  far  too  much  brutal  murder  on  all  hands, 
by  beings  who  take  a  savage  pleasure  in  the  mere 
slaughter  of  things  as  tame  as  hens  and  sheep.  The 
true  test  of  a  day's  sport  is  not  the  number  of 
head  secured,  but  the  amount  of  skill  and  pluck  requi- 
site to  secure  it!  Depend  upon  it,  also,  the  man 
who  recklessly  and  wantonly  takes  away  the  lives  of 
dumb  things  merely  for  the  sake  of  killing,  would,  if 
his  wretched  neck  was  as  secure  in  one  case  as  in  the 
other,  assist  with  equal  pleasure  at  the  massacre  of  his 
fellow-men.  Many  of  the  men  who  joined  in  the  in- 
fernal carnival  of  murder  in  India  some  years  ago, 
and,  in  so  doing,  left  on  this  nation  a  taint  which  God 
will  sooner  or  later  avenge  on  our  boasted  civilization, 
had  firet  developed  the  taste  for  blood  in  the  pheasant 
coverts  of  England  and  the  swarming  moors  of  the 
north. 

Wild-fowl  shooting  on  the  sea-fjords,  otter-hunting 
on  Kerrera,  salmon-angling  in  Loch  Awe,  sea-fishing 


88  THE   LAND   OP   LOBNB, 

on  the  firth — any  of  these  might  supply  matter  for  a 
separate  chapter,  if  we  were  to  chronicle  one  tithe  of 
our  experience ;  but  we  are  compelled  to  pass  on  to 
more  moving  matter,  only  remarking,  in  conclusion, 
that,  although  the  lover  of  battues  and  wholesale 
slaughter  may  find  himself  better  served  elsewhere, 
the  true  sportsman  will  never  regret  a  season  spent 
with  rod  and  gun,  afloat  and  ashore,  on  the  lochs  and. 
moors  of  Lome. 


THE   FlliTU   OF   LOJiJNE.  89 


CHAPTER  V. 

THB    FIRTH    OF    LORNE. 

The  Ocean  Queen,  or  Ooffin — Shon  Macnab's  Raco  with  tho  Barber — 
Lachlan  Finlay — From  Ci-inan  to  tho  Dorus  Mhor — Ilcbridoan  Tides — 
Scarba— Tlio  Gulf  of  Con->'\-rcckan — Its  Horrors  and  Perils— Luing  and 
tho  Small  Isles— Tho  Open  Firth — Easdalo  and  its  Quan-icrs — Tombs  at 
tho  Door — Miseries  of  Calm — Gylen  Castle  and  tho  Island  of  Kcrrcra — 
King  Haco's  Invasion  of  the  Hebrides — A  Puff  from  tho  Southeast — 
Tho  Island  ot  Mull — Johnson  and  Boswell  in  tho  Hebrides- A  Run  to 
Tobermory — Loch  Sunart— A  Rainy  Day — .\rdtomish  Castle — Anchored 
bctwocn  Wind  and  Tide- Night  on  the  Firth— Troubles  of  Darkness — 
Farewell  to  tho  Ocean  Queen — Arrival  of  the  Tern. 

The  Firth  of  Lome  stretches  from  Loch  Crinan  (a 
spot  familiar  to  every  Highland  tourist)  as  far  as  the 
entrance  to  the  Sound  of  Mull ;  after  passing  which, 
it  changes  its  name  to  Loch  Linnhe,  and  creeps  north- 
ward, ever  narrowing  till  it  reaches  Bannavie,  and 
forms  the  narrow  estuary  of  Loch  Eil. 

Strictly  speaking,  only  the  mainland  coast  as  far  as 
Loch  Crinan  appertains  to  Lome,  but  in  old  times 
Mull  was  included,  as  well  as  many  of  the  far-off 
islands.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  Firth  of  Lome  is  a 
glorious  sheet  of  salt  water,  fed  by  the  mighty  tides 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  forming,  both  on  the  islands  and 
on  the  mainland,  a  line  of  sea-coast  not  easily  matched 
for  loneliness  and  beauty.  Numerous  islands,  large 
and  small,  stud  the  waters,  forming  narrow  passages, 
through  which  the  tide  boils  with  terrific  fury.  Great 
heights,  grassy  and  rocky,  rise  everywhere  out  of  the 


00  THE    LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

sea,  casting  dark  shadows.  Everywhere  the  bhick 
teetli  of  the  reef  threaten  the  seaman.  Innumerable 
bays  and  land-locked  lakes  lie  close  in  the  shelter  of 
the  coast ;  but  the  anchorages  are  nearly  all  bad  and 
dangerous,  on  account  of  the  submerged  rocks  and 
the  foul  bottom. 

To  see  this  firtli  aright,  to  enjoyits  wondrous  scene- 
ry in  a  way  quite  impossible  to  the  ordinary  tourist, 
the  Wanderer  secured  the  Ocean  Queen^  a  small  yacht 
of  nine  tons,  thirty-four  feet  long,  seven  and  a  half 
feet  beam,  and  drawing  precisely  six  feet  of  water  aft. 
She  was  the  crankiest  vessel  ever  built  by  the  hand 
of  man,  and  was  speedily  known  by  the  nickname  of  the 
Coffin.  Her  mainsail  was  an  enormous  sheet  of  can- 
vas, though  luckily  somewhat  old  and  tearable ;  and 
she  canned  also  a  gaff-topsail.  Her  speed,  running 
before  the  wind,  was  very  great ;  and,  beating  to 
windward,  she  managed  finely  as  long  as  she  could 
carry  canvas.  She  was  quite  unfit  for  a  dangerous 
coast  like  that  of  Lome,  where  the  storms  are  sudden 
and  the  squalls  terrific  ;  but  she  had  a  neat  little 
cabin  and  snug  forecastle,  so  that  she  made  a  toler- 
able floating-home.  Many  a  fright  did  the  Wanderer 
get  in  her.  Latterly,  he  managed  to  render  her  pret- 
ty snug  by  running  in  the  bowsprit,  and  sailing  her 
with  the  foresail  only  and  single-reefed  mainsail  ;  but, 
from  first  to  last,  she  was  as  fickle  as  an  unbroken 
filly  ;  her  vilest  quality  of  all  being  her  awkwardness 
in  "  coming  about,"  even  under  the  most  experienced 
management. 

Having  secured  this  noble  vessel,  the  Wanderer  had 
to  look  about  for  a  suitable  person  to  assist  him  in 


THE    FIIITH    OF   LOIINE.  91 

managing  her — no  difJicult  task,  it  may  be  imagined, 
on  a  fishing-coast  and  close  to  a  fishing-town ;  but,  in 
good  trutli,  lie  was  doomed  to  a  bitter  expcrienoLj. 
After  trying  several  impostors,  who  betrayed  them- 
selves in  a  day,  he  secured  the  services  of  Shon  Mac- 
nab,  a  gigantic  Gael,  six  feet  three  in  his  shoes,  and 
about  twenty  years  of  age.  A  fine  specimen  of  the  sailor 
was  Shon,  with  his  great  red  face,  flaming  whiskers, 
and  huge  hands ;  and  he  knew  how  to  move  about 
the  boat  as  well  as  an  east-country  fisherman,  and  was 
altogether  smart  at  his  work,  from  taking  in  a  reef  to 
climbing  up  the  rigging  to  set  the  gaff-topsail.  But 
Shon  had  two  most  inevitable  faults — he  was  inordi- 
nately vain  and  utterly  untruthful.  No  man  knew  how 
to  handle  a  boat  but  Shon  Macnab ;  all  his  townsmen 
were  poor  pretenders.  No  one  could  pilot  a  boat  on  the 
west  coast  but  Shon ;  he  knew  every  rock  and  shal- 
low, and  every  sideway,  from  the  Mull  of  Cantyre 
to  Cape  AVrath.  Unfortunately,  however,  Shon  had 
never  been  farther  from  Oban  than  Ardnamurchan, 
and  his  knowledge  of  the  coast  consisted  of  a  sort  of 
second-sight — very  gratifying  to  the  possessor,  but 
liable  to  get  the  confiding  owner  of  a  boat  into  serious 
trouble.  All  went  well  with  Slion  for  a  time  ;  but  at 
last,  mad  with  success,  he  secretly  wagered  "  the  Bar- 
ber "  to  race  the  latter's  vessel,  an  open  fore-and-afl 
boat,  very  superior  in  seaworthiness,  from  Oban  round 
the  Lady's  Rock  and  back  round  Kerrera,  a  distance  of 
about  forty  miles.  So  one  day  the  Wanderer  came 
down  to  the  shore  just  in  time  to  see  the  Ocean  Queen 
rounding  the  Maiden  Island  on  her  way  to  the  Lady's 
Rock,  and  side  by  side  with  her  the  Barber's  boat.    It 


92  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

was  blowing  half  a  gale  of  wind,  and  the  Barber  soon 
tnmed  back  to  the  bay  ;  bnt  Shon,  with  a  picked  crew 
of  Gaels,  all  wild  with  whisky,  doubtless,  still  held  on 
his  wild  caieer;  while  the  Wanderer,  climbing  the 
heights  above  the  town,  watched  his  vessel,  and  ex- 
pected every  minute  to  see  it  submerged.  A  big  sea 
was  rolling  in  the  firth,  and  the  little  boat,  too  sorely 
pressed  under  canvas,  was  sadly  knocked  about.  She 
reached  Oban  in  the  afternoon,  with  only  a  tear  in 
the  mainsail ;  but  her  planks  were  slightly  strained, 
and  she  was  never  as  tight  after  that  day.  Although 
Shon  begged  wildly  for  pardon,  the  Wanderer  was  in- 
exorable, and  sent  him  about  his  business. 

For  some  little  time  it  seemed  as  if  no  tit  person 
would  appear  to  take  Shon's  place.  Several  candi- 
dates appeared,  but  were  rejected  on  various  scores 
— greediness,  dirtiness,  stupidity,  or  old  age.  At 
last  the  Wanderer  discerned  a  small  tradesman  in  the 
villa<re,  who  had  been  a  herring-fisher,  and  whose 
only  present  occupation  was  to  sit  on  a  sack  and  whit- 
tle wood  with  a  knife,  while  his  wife  managed  the 
shop.  Lachlan  Finlay  was  from  the  "  high-hill  coun- 
try," on  the  skirts  of  Morven,  and  was  a  true  Celt  of 
the  quieter  kind — very  cold  and  distant  on  first  acquaint- 
ance, but  affectionate  in  the  extreme.  Every  day 
that  the  Wanderer  sailed  with  Lachlan  he  liked  him 
better.  He  wa  tolerably  good  at  his  work — he  was 
thoroughly  truthful,  and  as  simple-hearted  as  a  child, 
lie  had  the  "  boating  mind"  of  a  boy,  and  was  never 
happy  without  his  pocket-knife  to  work  with.  His 
"  pouches"  were  full  of  nails,  bits  of  string  and  other 
odds  and  ends.     lie  was  as  clean  as  an  infant,  mind 


THE    FIRTH    OV    LOllNli.  93 

and    body,    wliilo  having  a    keen  perce])t.ioji   of  the 
value  of  money. 

As  Laclilan  knew  nothing  of  the  coast,  the  Wanderer 
had  to  work  liia  way  about  by  the  government  charts, 
picking  his  steps,  so  to  speak,  from  place  to  place, 
with  extreme  caution,  and  ever  dreading  the  hidden 
dangers  of  the  iirtli.  Many  a  narrow  escape  had  the 
Ocean  Queen  in  those  days — at  one  time  swinging  to 
her  doom  on  the  fierce  tide  of  Dunstaffnagc,  and  only 
being  saved  by  superhuman  endeavors  to  tow  her 
out  of  the  tideway  with  the  punt ;  at  another,  bump- 
ing and  scratching  on  the  submerged  rocks  to  the 
north  of  the  l^Iaiden  Island ;  sometimes  caught  in  the 
open,  and  having  to  run  for  life  ;  at  others  drifting  in 
the  darkness  on  some  unknown  and  dangerous  portion 
of  the  coast.  One  adventure  of  this  sort  is  as  good  as 
another,  and  as  in  the  course  of  a  certain  cruise  we 
had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  whole  scenery  of 
the  firth,  let  us  here  chronicle  our  experience. 

We  had  run  up  to  Crinan  to  meet  a  fiiend  from  the 
south.  Having  taken  him  on  board,  we  slipped  out 
of  the  basin  at  daybreak,  with  all  canvas  set,  save  the 
gaff-topsail,  and  ran  with  the  light  breeze  on  our 
quarter  across  to  the  Dorus  Mhor,  or  Big  Gate,  a 
narrow  passage  formed  by  the  peninsula  and  islands 
of  Loch  Craignish.  At  spring-tides,  the  tide  in  the 
Dorus  runs  five  miles  an  hour,  and,  when  there  is  a 
breeze,  the  cross  seas  are  terrific.  Running  with 
wind  and  tide,  the  Ocean  Queen  actually  flew ;  but 
while  she  was  shooting  through  the  Dorus  the  waves 
broke  fiercely  over  her  counter,  and  as  the  boiling 


94  THE    LAND    OF    LOIINE. 

tide  dragged  at  her  tliis  way  and  that,  it  was  a  task 
of  no  ordinary  skill  to  keep  her  steady  with  the  helm. 
The  steamship  plows  her  way  through  the  passage, 
though  sometimes  with  difficulty,  and  those  who  stand 
on  her  deck  look  down  on  the  boiling  gulf  in  safety ; 
hilt  it  is  different  with  those  who  sit  in  a  tiny  craft, 
with  the  water  lapping  around  and  over  them,  and 
the  bubbling  roar  painfully  audible.  These  tide- 
ways are  ugly  indeed  to  the  seaman's  eye.  IIow  the 
water  hisses  and  swirls,  now  like  green  glass  with  its. 
own  motion,  now  broken  into  foam,  now  rushing  to 
the  overfall  and  plunging  down !  IIow  the  cross- 
currents tug  at  the  little  craft,  as  if  seeking  to  drag 
her  to  her  doom  !  Sometimes  a  huge  coil  of  seaweed 
marks  the  hidden  rock,  a  floating  tangle  gives  a  false. 
alarm,  whirling  on  the  surface  of  the  waters  ahead. 
The  tides  of  the  DorusMhor  and  the  adjoining  Sound 
of  Scarba  are  only  equaled  by  the  tides  of  the  Kyles 
of  Skyc. 

On  the  present  occasion  there  was  no  danger,  and 
as  the  dawn  blo&somed  into  full  bright  day,  we  left, 
the  DoruB  Mhor  behind,  and,  keeping  close  along  the 
mainland,  which  si retched  far  along  to  the  right,  we 
followed  the  inner  channel  of  the  Firth  of  Lome. 
We  were  soon  abreast  of  Scarba,  a  single  conical 
mountain,  rising  abruptly  out  of  the  sea,  and  fashion- 
ing itself  into  an  island  about  three  miles  long,  very 
precipitous  and  rocky,  but  having  on  the  eastern  side 
a  series  of  thinly-wooded  declivities,  which,  in  the 
gentle  light  of  the  summer  morning,  were  touched 
Avith  tints  of  quite  ethereal  beauty.  Between  Scarba 
and  Jura,  which  stretches  far  to  the  southward,  is  a 


THE    FlRTll    OF   LORNE  05 

narrow  Bound,  opening  on  the  great  dim  ocean,  and, 
looking  through  the  jjassage,  we  ever  and  anon 
caught  a  wliite  gleam,  as  of  great  waves  breaking  in 
the  distance.  Yonder  lay  the  far-famed  Gulf  of  Cor- 
ryvreckan,  and  it  was  to  escape  the  force  of  the  tide, 
which  sets  for  miles  toward  the  dreaded  passage,  that 
wc  were  keeping  so  close  to  the  mainland  shore. 
Corryvreckan  is  the  Ilebridean  Maelstrom,  ever  re- 
garded with  fearful  eyes  by  the  most  daring  sailors  of 
the  inland  deep.  l*oets  may  be  allowed  to  sing,  like 
Campbell,  of "  the  distant  isles  that  hear  the  loud 
Corbrechtan  roar ;  "  or,  like  Scott,  of 

"  Scarba's  isle,  whose  tortured  sliore 
Btill  rings  to  Corryvreckan's  roar ;  " 

but  it  is  no  mere  poetical  dread  that  fills  our  Lachlan's 
heart  as  he  leans  against  the  mast  and  searches  the 
distance.  From  infancy  upward,  the  name  of  yonder 
gulf  has  been  to  him  a  word  of  awe  and  terror.  lie 
has  heard  of  great  ships  being  swallowed  up  whole, 
torn  into  pieces  by  the  teeth  of  hidden  reefs,  and 
vomited  out  in  fragments  miles  away  on  the  Islay 
shore.  He  has  seen  old  men  turn  pale  by  the  very 
fireside  at  the  mention  of  Corryvreckan.  He  believes 
that  the  ebb  tide  in  Corryvreckan,  "  when  the  wind  is 
from  the  west,  would  drown  a  man-of-war  as  easily 
as  the  shell  of  a  nut."  He  has,  nevertheless,  heard 
stories  of  vessels  that  have  passed  safely  through  the 
terrific  place ;  but  these,  to  him,  were  no  less  than 
miracles,  brought  about  by  a  special  Providence. 

The  Wanderer  used  to  smile  at  the  yams  of  sailors 
and  fishermen,  with  their  dark  accumulation  of  mystic 


00  THE   LAND   0¥   LOKNK. 

terrors  ;  but  the  more  he  navigated  the  watere  in  his 
unprofessional  way,  the  less  skeptical  he  grew.  In 
good  truth,  familiarity  with  the  sea,  instead  of  breed- 
ing contempt,  only  strengthens  the  sense  of  awe.  Its 
dangers  are  not  forever  on  the  surface  ;  they  i)rescnt 
themselves  slowly  and  upon  occasion.  When  the 
Wanderer  first  began  to  sail  small  craft,  he  saw  little 
or  no  peril ;  now,  every  day  afloat  increases  his  cau- 
tion and  respect  for  the  elements ;  and  if  he  goes  on 
in  the  same  ratio  for  a  few  years  longer,  he  will  be 
afraid  to  venture  on  the  water  at  all.  In  seafaring 
matters,  distrust  the  man  who  seems  stupidly  indiffer- 
ent to  danger,  and  over-confident.  Choose  the  man 
who  has  his  eve  cast  forever  to  windward,  with  that 
hungry  watchfulness  so  peculiar  to  the  skilled  fisher. 
Never  forgive  him  if,  in  sailing  in  an  open  boat,  you 
catch  him  fastening  the  sheet,  though  only  with  a 
half  hitch  ;  for,  be  certain,  the  man  wdio  does  that  ia 
irreclaimable,  and  will  drown  you  some  day. 

Of  course,  the  accounts  of  Corry  vreckan  are  exag- 
gerated— the  danger  consisting  not  in  the  whirlpools, 
but  in  the  terrific  sea  raised  by  the  wind  when  con- 
tending with  the  tidal  wave  and  the  long  Atlantic 
swell  in  the  narrow  passage  of  the  sound.  In  times 
of  stonn  the  place  is  indeed  perilous,  and  verily  caj)a- 
ble  of  drowning  a  large  vessel.  Caught  in  the  num- 
berless currents,  a  ship  becomes  at  once  unmanage- 
able, and  must  drive  whither  Fate  directs — either  to 
strike  on  some  corner  of  the  coast,  or  to  spring  her 
planks  and  sink  to  the  bottom  ;  or,  perhaps — as  hap- 
pened on  one  traditional  occasion — to  be  swept  in 
safety  out  of  the  tide  along  the  Jura  shore.     In  the 


THE    FIRTII    OF    LORNE.  9*1 

most  dangerous  part  of  the  gulf,  wliere  it  is  a  hundred 
fathoms  deep,  there  is  a  submerged  pyramidal  rock, 
rising  precipitously  to  Avithin  fifteen  fathoms  of  the 
surface,  and  the  result  is  a  subaqueous  overfall,  caus- 
ing in  its  turn  infinite  gyrations,  eddies,  and  counter- 
currents.  There  is  most  danger  at  the  flood-tide, 
which  sets  from  the  eastward,  through  the  gulf,  at 
the  rate  of  ten  or  twelve  miles  an  hour,  and  encoun- 
ters the  whole  swell  of  the  Western  Atlantic  rolling 
into  the  narrow  sound.  At  turn  of  tide  tliere  is  a 
brief  lull,  during  which,  in  calm  weather,  boats  have 
passed  through  ;  but  the  attempt  is  at  all  times  to  be 
avoided,  as  the  slightest  miscalculation  as  to  the  tides, 
or  the  sudden  rising  of  the  wind,  would  render  escape 
impossible.  At  all  times  Corryvreckan  "roars,"  the 
sound  being  audible  even  close  to  the  mainland  shore. 
The  poet  Campbell  heard  it  at  a  distance  of  many 
leagues,  at  Downie  House,  close  to  Loch  Crinan.  He 
compares  its  effect  in  calm  weather,  when  all  the  sur- 
rounding seas  are  still,  to  the  sound  of  innumerable 
chariot-wheels. 

Quitting  the  Peninsula  of  Craignish,  we  had 
reached  the  shores  of  the  Island  of  Luing,  which, 
with  Seil,  Shuna,  and  small  isles  innumerable,  lies  so 
close  to  the  mainland  as  almost  to  form  a  portion  of 
the  coast  of  the  Nether  Lome.  Seil  is  separated  from 
the  mainland  by  a  channel  of  only  a  few  yards,  form- 
ing a  rapid,  river-like  sound,  two  miles  in  length. 
Low  and  undulating,  these  isles  present  few  points  of 
beauty,  but  up  behind  them  lies  Loch  Melfort,  a  salt- 
water lake  of  rare  loveliness,  surrounded  by  magnifi- 
cent cliffs  of  ivy-clad  gneiss.     Out  beyond  them,  to 

5 


98  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

the  west,  and  lyinjr  close  to  and  due  north  of  Scarba, 
are  Lunga  and  the  Black  Isles.  Closed  in  on  each 
side,  we  were  runninf]^  before  the  wind  np  the  broad 
passage  known  as  the  Sound  of  Scarba,  and  were  soon 
struggling  in  the  tideway  opposite  the  Black  Isles,  on 
the  largest  of  which  a  lighthouse  is  situated.  A  few 
minutes  later,  however,  we  were  clear  of  all  the  isles, 
and  saw  before  us  the  glories  of  the  great  firth 
stretched  out  in  the  golden  light  of  a  summer  day. 

Due  west  of  our  little  vessel  stretched  the  open  At- 
lantic, growing  dimmer  and  dimmer  in  distance,  with 
a  ghostly  ship  afar,  beating  southward  under  full  sail; 
but  down  to  the  northwest,  fifteen  miles  away,  rose 
the  gigantic  mountains  of  Mull,  their  deep  purple 
hues  mingling  with  mist  upon  the  peaks  ;  while  far- 
ther north  yet,  the  white  lighthouse  of  Lismore 
gleamed  with  the  gleam  of  breaking  waves  at  its 
base — and  above  and  beyond  mountains  innumerable 
darkened  the  distance.  Straight  before  the  yacht's 
bow  the  firth  sparkled,  its  waters  visible  for  many  a 
mile,  and  a  whole  fleet  <)i'  fishing-boats,  large  and 
small,  white-sailed  and  red-sailed,  were  drifting  in 
the  slack  tide,  over  a  broad  patch  of  dead  calm,  off 
the  great  cliffs  of  the  island  of  Kerrera,  which 
mingled  with  the  mainland  on  the  starboard  bow. 
The  breeze  that  had  brought  us  thus  far  was  dying 
fast,  and  scarcely  hud  we  run  three  miles  ahead,  and 
got  abreast  of  the  little  island  of  Easdale,  when  it 
died  away  altogether,  suddenly  as  breath  from  a  mir- 
ror, and  left  us  rolling  about  most  uncomfortably  on 
the  smooth  sea.  It  is  ever  thus  in  summer  ;  no  wind 
can  be  relied  on  for  many  hours  together ;  and  henco 


THE    FIIITII    OF    LORNE.  99 

the  great  danger  of  navigating  the  inland  channels, 
with  their  fierce  tides. 

The  boat  which  conveys  the  ordinary  tourist  to 
Oban  calls  at  Easdalc,  but  few  strangers  pay  any  at- 
tention to  the  unpicturesquo  little  island.  Easdale  is, 
nevertheless,  worth  a  visit,  for  the  sake  of  its  slate 
quarries,  which  are  perhaps  the  finest  in  Scotland ; 
still  more  for  the  sake  of  its  jjopulation,  all  depend- 
ent on  the  quarries,  all  born  in  the  locality,  and  living 
quite  isolated  there,  summer  and  winter.  Many  old 
Buperstitions  that  have  died  their  lingering  death 
elsewhere  still  flourish  here,  together  with  many  primi- 
tive manners  and  customs.  The  men  of  Easdale  are 
true  Celts — daring  boatmen  and  intense  dreamers — 
speaking  the  fine  tongue  that  many  southerners  deem 
nearly  extinct,  but  which  still  remains  the  common 
and  cherished  speech  of  Lornc  and  the  Hebrides.  lie 
who  walks  among  their  houses  will  note,  here  and 
there,  large  slabs  of  stone  setup  on  end.  These  have 
been  purchased  and  preserved — docs  the  reader  guess 
for  what  purpose  ?  For  gravestones ;  reserved  by  the. 
owners  to  mark  their  own  places  of  rest.  Here  and 
elsewhere  in  the  Hebrides,  one  not  only  finds  the 
islander  preparing  his  own  shroud,  but  buying  his 
own  tombstone.  There  they  stand,  daily  monitors  of 
the  Inevitable,  with  the  great  ocean  murmuring  for- 
ever close  to  them — a  daily  preacher  of  the  Eternal. 

It  is  always  weary  work,  waiting  for  the  wind ;  to 
look  this  way  and  that,  in  dim  hope  and  expectation, 
despairingly  whistling  according  to  the  sailors'  super- 
stition ;  to  see  the  water  darken  miles  off,  and  the 
shadow  creepmg  nearer  and  nearer,  and  then,  just  as 


iOO  THE   LAND  OF   LORNE. 

you  expect  yom*  sails  to  fill,  miserably  dying ;  or 
worse  still,  as  on  the  present  occasion,  to  watch  with 
fierce  chagrin  the  breeze  at  your  back,  which  for 
hours  together  blows  pleasantly  a  hundred  yards  be- 
liind  you,  and  there,  for  some  mysterious  reason, 
pauses,  and  won't  come  a  single  inch  nearer;  or, 
worst  of  all,  to  drift  on  the  swift  current,  in  spite  of 
all  your  efforts,  toward  some  dreaded  danger,  from 
which  only  a  smart  "puff"  could  bear  you  away  in 
safety.  He  who  uses  a  sailing-boat*  must  recommend 
to  his  spirit  many  hard  virtues,  foremost  among  which 
is  patience.  The  wind  is  ever  perverse,  and  will  serve 
no  man's  will.  It  is  most  perverse  of  all  on  an 
island  coast  like  that  of  the  Hebrides.  Breezes  of  all 
sorts  are  bred  among  the  clouds  of  the  hill-tops,  and 
they  are  ever  rushing  down  when  least  expected.  An 
cx])erienced  eye  can  see  them  coming,  but  that  is  all. 
Even  in  summer,  it  is  impossible  to  predict  the 
weather  with  much  certainty. 

For  hours  we  drifted  on  a  glassy  sea,  beguiling  part 
of  the  time  by  popping  unsuccessfully  at  a  shoal  of 
porpoises,  which  tumbled  for  some  minutes  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  vessel,  in  pursuit  of  the 
herring,  doubtless,  for  numberless  gulls  and  terns 
screamed  in  the  air  or  floated  like  ourselves  on  the 

*  A  good  story  is  told  of  the  old  Clyde  bargeman  who,  eailingf 
slowly  on  the  firth,  and  finding  himself  pas.scd  by  the  first  steam- 
boat, watched  the  latter  till  almost  out  of  earshot,  and  then,  un- 
able to  keep  silence  any  longer,  bawled  out :  "  Ayo  !  get  awa'  wi' 
your  DeU'sreek  "  (Devil's  smoke) ;  •'  I'm  just  sailing  as  it  pleases 
the  breath  o'  God/"  And  there  is  something  in  this  idea  of  tho 
"breath  of  God,"  after  all,  apart  from  the  comic  connection  in 
the  anecdote. 


THE    FIIITH    OF    LOBNE.  lOi 

■water.  Tlic  tide  still  took  us  in  the  rip;lit  direction, 
and  we  otcw  nearer  and  neare  to  the  fleet  of  fishinir 
boats  becalmed  off  KeiTera;  until  at  last,  to  our  dis- 
gust, a  nice  pnff  of  wind  struck  them  ahead,  and, 
beatini^  slowly  northward,  they  drew  one  by  one  to- 
ward the  opposite  shores  of  Mull. 

It  was  now  afternoon,  a  dimly-bright  spring  after- 
noon, and  we  were  floating  off  Gylen  Castle,  the 
shadow  of  which  was  clearly  visible  in  tlie  smooth 
sea.  Gylen,  like  Dunollie,  was  an  old  stronghold  of 
the  Lords  of  Lome.  Its  gray  tower  stands  on  a  preci- 
pice overlooking  the  ocean,  in  the  center  of  a  desolate 
bay,  which  has  been  washed  and  torn  into  the  wildest 
fonns  of  crag  and  scaur  by  the  roll  of  the  Western 
Sea.  It  commands  a  full  view  of  the  boundless  At- 
lantic. The  heights  of  Kerrera  above  it  are  dark  and 
verdureless,  and  deepen  its  look  of  loneliness  and  deso- 
lation. Even  on  this  summer  day  it  appears  pitiful 
and  lonely ;  but  in  darker  days,  when  it  looms  through 
the  sad  mist  like  a  ghost,  it  seems  to  have  a  look  of 
almost  human  sorrow.  Many  a  wild  scene  of  lif©  and 
revel  has  it  beheld.  Now  its  only  inhabitants  are 
the  owl  and  the  wild-rock  pigeon,  the  latter  of  which 
builds  in  great  numbers  among  the  rocky  cliffs  of  the 
island. 

This  said  island  of  Kerrera,  although  not  strikingly 
picturesque  in  form,  possesses  such  peculiar  fascina- 
tions as  grow  upon  the  imagination.  It  is  separated 
from  the  mainland  by  a  narrow  strait  or  sound,  half 
a  mile  wide,  at  the  northern  extremity  of  which  lies 
the  beautiful  bay  of  Oban ;  is  four  miles  long  and 
two  miles  broad ;  and  presents  an  irregular  surface  of 


102  THELANDOFLORNE. 

hill  and  dale,  on  which  can  be  had  a  harder   daj'ii 
walking  than  anywhere  else  in  Lome.     It  is  a  great 
luiunt  of  the  otter,  and  its  crags  shelter  birds  of  prej 
of  all  descriptions,  from  the  hooded  crow  to  the  pere- 
grine  falcon.     But  its  chief  attractions  are  on   tlio 
coast,  and  the  way  to   behold  them  is  to  spend    the 
long  day  in  rowing  right  round  its  shores.     The  cliffa 
and  outlying  islets  form  themselves  into  pictures  of 
rare  beauty,  shifting  with  the  lights  and  shadows  of 
heaven  and  ocean.     The  waters  on  both  sides  are  dan- 
gerous for  sailing  vessels,  being  sown  everywhere  with 
reefs  and  shallows ;  studded  on  the  outer  coast  with 
many  small   black  islands,  in  the  neigliborhood   of 
which  are  all  sorts  of  submerged  dangers  ;  and  most 
unpleasant  of  all  is  the  narrow  inner  sound,  which  is 
full  of  rocks  not  all  marked  in  the  charts.     Beatino- 
to  windward  up  the  Sound  of  Kcrrera  is  disagreeable 
work  ;  the  short  tacks  are  so  wearisome,  besides  beinff 
full  of  danger  to  one  not  well  acquainted  with  the 
coast.     The  squalls  off   the  coast   of  the   mainland, 
when  the  southeast  wind  blows,  are  sharp  and  sudden, 
often  striking  you  straight  from  the  heights  without 
ruffling  an  inch  of  the  sound  to  windward.     Woe  be- 
tide the  helmsman  who  fails  to  "  luff "  skillfully  at 
such  times.     On  certain   days,  no  skill   is   of  much 
avail.     The  puffs  come  and  go,  with  intervals  of  calm  ; 
and  just  as  the  vessel  has  lost  all  way  in  the  latter, 
and  is  lying  dead  still,  the  squall  leaps  upon  her  like 
a  tiger,  and  she  staggers  on,  lialf  drowned,  happy  to 
escape  with  her  mast  above  water. 

One  never   stands  on  Kerrera  without  thinkin<r  of 
King  Haco's  memorable  invasion  of  Lome  and  the 


THE    FIRTH    OF    LOUNE.  103 

Tsico,  which  is  recorded  in  our  second  volume.  TIcro, 
in  Kerrcra,  King  Alcxanderll.  had  that  weird  dream, 
when  St.  Olaf,  St  Magnus,  and  St.  Cohimha  appeared 
to  him  and  warned  liim  to  return  home  to  Scotland; 
and  here  the  king,  having  disregarded  the  warning, 
died  of  a  mysterious  distemper.*  Hither,  to  the 
same  anchoiage,  doubtless,  (Ilorse-shoe  Bay?)  came 
the  Norwegian  monarch,  and  found  King  Dugal  and 
other  Ilebrideans  waiting  to  receive  him.  From  the 
Kyles  of  Skye  to  Loch  Ranza  and  Loch  Long,  there 
is  scarcely  a  portion  of  the  coast  that  the  great 
invasion  does  not  render  memorable.  Nothing  has 
changed  since  then.  Tobermory,  and  Kerrera,  and 
Loch  Ranza,  and  the  other  places  where  the  Nor- 
wegian vessels  lay,  are  our  anchorages  to  this  hour. 
Standing  on  the  high  cliffs  of  Kerrera,  and  gazing 
across  the  Firth  of  Lome  to  the  opening  of  the  Sound 
of  Mull,  we  have  often  pictured  the  quaint  Nor- 
wegian vessels  issuing  one  by  one  out  of  the  dis- 
tance, with  "Haco  the  aired"  in  the  lar<Test — "built 
wholly  of  oak,  containing  twenty-seven  banks  of  oars, 
and  adorned  with  heads  and  necks  of  dragons  over- 
wrought with  gold."  There  is  no  finer  figure  in  his- 
tory than  that  of  Ilaco  the  King,  with  his  stately 
generosity,  his  deep  piety. 

'  The  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust  V 

He  was  a  prince  indeed,  sowing  thought  and  order 
wherever  he  stepped,  and  when  the  end    was  near, 

*  *  Konongr  sagdi  draumin  ;  ok  fysto  flestir  at  hann  skylldi 
afto  sn 'la.  Enn  hann  villdi  Pat  egi ;  litlu  sidarr  tok  hann  sott 
ok  andadiz. '     (See  Vol.  II.  the  '•  Saga  of  Haco  the  King.") 


^04  THE   LAND   OF   1.0n>;E. 

bearing  his  lingering  illness  with  holy  calm.  "  lie 
desired  ]Sforwcgian  books  might  be  read  to  him  day 
and  night;  first,  the  '  Lives  of  Saints,'  and  when  they 
were  ended,  the  ^  Chronicles  of  our  Kings  from  Ilal- 
dan  the  Black,'  and  so  of  all  Norway's  kings,  one 
after  another."  Nor  did  he  forget  his  followers,  great 
or  small,  but  bequeathed  them  loving  gifts ;  and  with 
his  dying  breath  he  left  orders  for  the  guidance  of 
Magnus  his  son',  in  dealmg  with  the  people  and  the 
army.  Finally,  surrounded  by  the  Wise  Men  of  his 
kingdom,  he  passed  "  from  this  home's  life,"  leaving 
a  name  and  fame  that  smell  sweet  to  the  present  day. 
The  summer  calm  did  not  last  long,  and  it  was 
broken  with  ominous  suddenness.  All  at  once,  a  low 
faint  moan  was  heard,  the  water  darkened  in  Kerrera 
Sound,  and  the  great  boom  swung  over  with  a  violent 
tug  at  the  mast  as  the  sail  filled.  "  Take  in  a  reef, 
Lachlan,  for  we're  going  to  have  as  much  as  we  can 
carry !"  Lachlan  laughed  and  hesitated,  but  the 
Wanderer,  whose  experience  told  him  what  was  com- 
ing, brought  the  boat  up  to  the  wind,  handed  the 
helm  to  his  southern  friend,  and  sprang  at  the  reel 
points — Lachlan  assisting  vigorously,  though  with  a 
very  skeptical  air.  The  wind  did  come,  blowing  on 
our  quarter  with  considerable  force,  and  it  soon  be 
camo  necessary  to  take  oft'  the  foresail  and  lower  the 
peak  of  the  mainsail.  Thus  eased,  the  Ocean  Queen 
bowled  round  the  southern  point  of  Kerrera  and  out 
into  the  dancing  waters  of  the  open  firth.  Aa  she 
ran  between  Kerrera  and  the  islands  at  it«  extremity, 
we  saw  the  great  eonnorants  sitting  bolt  upright  m  a 
Ion ^  TOW  on   one  ol  the  Lies  witn  theii   dirty  white' 


THE   FIRTH   OF   LOIINE.  105 

j>atch  at  the  throat  like  a  strect-prcaclier's  neck-cloth. 
We  piisscd  just  out  of  gunshot,  and  fired  asahite  into 
the  air  above  their  lieads.  A  few  phinged  into  the 
sea,  dived,  and  emerged  a  Imndred  yards  away ;  the 
greater  number  took  wing  and  went  flapping  across 
the  firth  slowly,  close  to  the  sea ;  but  a  few  great  fel- 
lows, swollen  with  fish,  merely  rolled  their  long  lieada 
from  side  to  side,  and  sat  still  on  their  thrones. 

The  wind  was  now  so  strong  that  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  carry  canvas  beating  to  windward  ; 
flying  with  the  wind  on  our  quarter  and  occasionally 
lowering  the  peak  to  the  puffs,  we  got  along  capitally, 
at  the  rate  of  seven  or  eight  miles  an  hour.  IIow  the 
bright  waves  danced  and  sparkled ! 

"  Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark. 

On  a  breeze  from  the  southward  free. 
So  shoots  through  the  morning  .sky  the  lark, 
Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea." 


^c>' 


The  sky  brightened,  partaking  of  the  wind's  glad- 
ness. The  fleet  of  fishino; -boats  were  now  runninsr 
swiftly  toward  the  Sound  of  Mull,  at  the  mouth  of 
which  the  lisjhthouse  of  Lismore,  with  the  wild  ebb- 
tide  foaming  at  its  base,  stood  in  bright  relief  against 
the  great  Morven  mountains.  Every  boat  there,  big- 
or  small,  was  bound  for  the  Long  Island  or  Outer 
Hebrides,  along  the  wild  shores  of  which  the  herring 
were  flashing,  and  one  and  all,  after  a  month's  fishing, 
would  follow  the  mysteriou3  flight  of  the  fish  south- 
ward. Noticeable  among  them  was  an  Isle  of  Man 
"jigger,"  running  neck  and  neck  with  a  double  lug- 
sailed  boat  from  Newhaven,  while  west-country 
smacks  innumerable  lagged  behind.     There  was  more 


1^^  THE    LAND    Oi-'    LOliNE. 

pluck  and  spirit,  more  calm  resolution  to  fight  with 
the  great  forces  of  the  world,  more  gentleness  of 
heart  and  strength  combined,  on  board  that  little 
fleet,  than  could  readily  be  found  in  any  camp  of  war. 
There  tliey  flew,  going  "  as  it  pleased  the  breath  of 
God !"  They  passed  the  dark  shores  of  ]\[ull,  they 
shot  one  by  one  round  the  base  of  the  dark  caatlo  of 
Duart,  and  they  faded,  with  a  last  ghostly  gleam,  in 
the  dark  shadows  that  slept  tlien,  and  sleep  almost 
always,  on  the  Sound  of  Mull. 

It  had  been  our  original  intention  to  make  Oban 
that  night,  but  to  do  so  we  should  have  had  to  beat 
considerably  to  windward,  and  the  breeze  was  too 
strong.  AVe  were  compelled,  in  despite  of  our  incli- 
nation, to  run  right  after  the  fishing-boats  into  the 
Sound  of  Mull.  The  wind  had  already  raised  a  con- 
siderable sea,  and  we  surged  forward  with  the  waves 
dashing  in  white  foam  behind  us,  sometimes  almost 
breaking  into  the  cockpit  where  we  sat.  We  were 
soon  close  under  the  shadow  of  Mull,  with  Kerrera 
far  away  on  our  weather  quarter,  and  Duart  castle 
drawing  every  moment  nearer  and  nearer  on  the  ix)rt 
bow.  There  was  no  prospect  of  any  first-rate  anclior- 
age,  short  of  Tobermory,  which  was  thirty  miles  away 
up  the  Sound.  True,  there  were  three  lochs,  with 
tolerable  shelter  and  holding-ground,  along  the  coast 
of  Mull,  which  we  were  skirting,  but  the  entrances 
were  all  more  or  less  dangerous — Loch  Buy  beino-  not 
only  perilous,  but  quite  unknown  to  us ;  Loch  Spelve 
partly  known,  but  always  perilous  on  account  of  sub- 
merged rocks  in  a  passage  only  a  few  yards  wide  ;  and 
Loch  Don,  exposed  to  the  full  force  of  the  sea  when 


THE   FIRTH   OF   LORNE.  107 


the  wind  blow  as  it  was  then  blowing.  In  the  Sound 
of  ]\Iull  itself,  it  was  not  much  better.  Duart  Bay 
and  Craignuro  were  far  too  open,  Loch  Aline  could 
not  be  well  entered  against  the  ebb-tide,  and  Scall- 
astle  had  one  great  disadvantage,  owing  to  our  igno- 
rance of  the  rock-sown  waters  which  surround  it. 
However,  if  the  wind  continued  to  blow  at  that  rate, 
we  should  be  snug  in  Tobermory  in  less  than  three 
hours. 

As  we  flew  through  the  water  toward  Duart,  we 
had  a  fine  view  of  Mull  and  its  mountains,  on  th© 
peaks  of  which  the  sun  was  now  pouring  soft  purple 
light.  The  coasts  of  the  great  island,  particularly  to 
the  southward,  where  they  are  washed  by  the  Atlan- 
tic, are  wild  and  precipitous,  and  assume  forms  only 
less  beautiful  than  the  basaltic  crags  on  the  northeast 
coast  of  Skye.  Inland,  all  is  dreary  and  unpictu- 
resque  as  compared  with  other  smTounding  islands. 
Of  course,  where  there  are  groat  hills,  with  occasional 
moorland  lochs  and  frequent  glimpses  of  the  sea-arm 
winding  far  into  the  land,  there  must  be  beauty,  abid- 
ing and  ever-varying ;  where  there  is  heather,  there 
must  be  glorious  color;  but,  taken  comparatively^ 
Mull  is  uninviting  and  wearisome,  save  only  to  the 
sportsman,  who  will  find  its  moors  tolerably  abun- 
dant in  wild-fowl  of  all  kinds  and  its  high  coitIcs  fre- 
quented by  the  red-deer. 

To  our  mind,  by  far  the  pleasantest  picture  con- 
nected with  Itlull  is  that  of  good  old  Doctor  Johnson 
traversing  its  weary  wilds  on  horseback  in  company 
with  Boswell.  "  Mr.  Boswell  thought  no  part  of  the 
Highlands  equally  terrific  ;"  but  the  Doctor  was  lion- 


108  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

hearted.  If  any  final  proof  were  wanted  that  John- 
son had  in  him  the  soul  of  a  hero,  it  is  to  be  found  in 
the  chronicle  of  his  northern  tour.  In  tlie  autumn 
of  1Y73  (after  trying  in  the  summer  "  to  learn  Dutch^'' 
and  being  "  interrupted  by  inflammation  of  the  eyes"), 
he  set  out,  an  old  man  of  sixty-four,  for  the  Hebrides, 
then  deemed  almost  inaccessible.  For  week  after 
week  he  faced  hardships  and  dangers  unexampled  in 
his  honest  experience  ;  trudged  footsore  on  endless 
moors,  lay  half-drowned  in  the  bottom  of  leaky  lligh- 
ifcnd  boats,  faced  the  fury  of  real  Highland  storms, 
got  drunk  with  mad  Highland  lairds,  and  showed  at 
every  step  the  patience  of  a  martyr  and  the  pluck  of 
a  Boldier.  His  journal  is  delicious  reading,  with  its 
solemn  indifference  to  barbaric  ''scenery,"  its  quaint 
pedantic  love  for  antiquities,  its  calm  tone  of  intel- 
lectuality, its  deep  and  fervent  piety.  Bos  well's  jour- 
nal is  still  more  delightful,  full  of  life  and  unconscious 
humor,  abounding  in  delicious  touches.  The  glimpses 
of  the  oracular  conduct  and  conversation  are  superb. 
Ilow  Johnson  stood  out  in  the  dusky  moor  at  Gle- 
nelg,  and  abused  his  faithful  follower  in  such  terms 
that  "  liozzy  "  couid  sleep  little  the  night  after — "  Dr. 
Johnson's  anger  had  affected  me  much."  How  John- 
son drank  whisky -toddy  in  Skye  and  gave  his  ideas 
about  a  seraglio  ;*  and  liow,  when  a  pretty  little  lady 

*  "  Thursday,  Sept.  10 — After  the  ladies  were  gone  from  table, 
>ve  talked  of  the  Highlanders  not  having  sheets  :  and  this  led  us 
to  consider  the  advantage  of  wearing  linen." 

"  JoJtnson — All  animal  substances  are  less  cleanly  than  vege- 
table. AVool,  of  which  flannel  is  made, is  an  animal  substance; 
flannel,  therefore,  is  not  so  cleanly  as  linen.     I  remember  1  used 


THE   FIRTH    OF    LOKNK.'  109 

eat  on  his  Icnee  and  kissed  him,  the  old  boy  "  kept  her 
on  his  knee  and  kissed  hei\  while  he  und  she  drank 
tea,"  all  the  company  beini^  much  "  entertained  to  see 
him  so  grave  and  pleasant."  How  he  had  honor 
everywhere,  and  won  love  to  crown  it.  How  nightly 
he  tunied  his  dear,  purblind,  gentle  face  to  God,  and 
communed  with  his  own  soul,  as  it  was  his  wont  to 
do,  especially  on  his  birthday.*     There  are  no  sweeter 

to  think  tar  dirty  ;  but  when  I  knew  it  to  bo  only  a  preparation 
of  the  juice  of  the  pine,  I  thought  Bono  longer.  It  is  not  dis- 
agreeable to  have  the  gum  that  oozes  from  a  plum-tree  upon  your' 
fingers,  because  it  is  vegetable  ;  but  if  you  have  any  candle- 
grease,  any  tallow  upon  your  fingers,  you  are  uneasy  till  you  rub 
it  off.  I  have  often  thought  that  if  I  kept  a  seraglio  the  ladies 
should  all  wear  linen  gowns,  or  cotton — I  mean  stuffs  made  of 
vegetable  substances.  I  would  have  no  silk  ;  you  cannot  tell 
when  it  is  clean;  it  will  bo  very  nasty  before  it  is  perceived  to  be 
eo.     Linen  detects  its  own  dirtiness." 

"  To  hear  the  grave  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  '  that  majestic 
teacher  of  moral  and  religious  wisdom,'  while  sitting  solemn  in 
an  arm-chair  in  the  Isle  of  Skye,  talk  ex  cathedra  of  his  keeping 
a  seraglio,  and  acknowledge  that  the  supposition  had  often  been 
in  his  thoughts,  struck  me  so  forcibly  with  ludicrous  contrast 
that  I  could  not  but  laugh  immoderately.  He  was  too  proud  to 
submit,  even  for  a  moment,  to  be  the  object  of  ridicule,  and  in- 
stantly retaliated  with  such  keen  sarcastic  wit,  and  such  a  variety 
of  degrading  images,  of  every  one  of  which  I  was  the  object, 
that  though  I  can  bear  such  attacks  as  well  as  most  men,  I  yet 
found  myself  so  much  the  sport  of  all  the  company,  that  I  would 
gladly  expunge  from  my  mind  every  trace  of  this  severe  retort." 
— Boswdl's  Tour  to  the  Hebrides. 

*  The  following  is  among  Dr.  Johnson's  "  Prayers  and  Medi- 
tations" : 

"  Taliskkr,  in  Skye,  Sept.  24, 1773. 

"On  last  Saturday  was  my  sixty-fourth  birthday.  I  might, 
perhaps,  have  forgotten  it,  had  not  Boswcll  told  me  of  it ;  and. 


11*^  THE   LAND    OF   LOKNE. 

bits  of  literature  in  the  world  than  these  few  notes  of 
a  "  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,"  made  in  the  wild  autumn 
season  by  Boswell  and  Johnson. 

It  was  at  Loch  Buy,  the  mouth  of  which  wo  had 
just  passed  in  the  Ocean  Queen^  that  Johnson  met 
"  a  true  Highland  laird,  rough  and  haughty,  and  te- 
nacious of  his  dignity,  who,  hearing  my  name,  in- 
quired whether  I  was  of  the  Johnstons  of  Glencoe  or 
the  Johnstons  of  Ardnamurchan."  Johnson  and 
Boswell  both  record  the  fact,  but  the  former  is  silent 
about  a  still  more  amusing  subject.     On  the  morning 

what  pleased  me  less,  told  the  family  at  Dunvegan.  The  laat 
year  is  added  to  those  of  which  little  use  has  been  made  ;  I  tried 
in  the  summer  to  learn  Dutch,  and  was  interrupted  by  an  inflam- 
mation in  my  eye.  I  set  out  in  August  on  this  journey  to  Skye. 
I  lind  my  memory  uncertain,  but  hope  it  is  only  by  a  life  unme- 
thodical and  scattered.  Of  my  body  I  do  not  perceive  that  ex- 
ercise or  change  of  air  has  yet  either  increased  the  strength  or 
activity.  My  nights  arc  still  disturbed  by  flatulences.  My  hope 
is — for  resolution  1  dare  no  longer  call  it — to  divide  my  time  regu- 
larly, and  to  keep  such  a  journal  of  my  time  aa  may  give  mo 
comfort  on  reviewing  it.  But  when  I  consider  my  age  and  the 
broken  state  of  my  body,  I  have  great  reason  to  fear  lest  death 
should  lay  hold  upon  me  while  I  am  only  yet  designing  to  live. 
But  I  have  yet  hope. 

"  Almighty  God,  most  merciful  Father,  look  down  upon  mo 
with  ])ity  !  Thou  hast  protected  me  in  childhood  and  youth ; 
suj)port  me,  Lord,  in  my  declining  years.  Preserve  mo  from  the 
dangers  of  sinful  presumption.  Give  me,  if  it  be  best  forme 
stability  of  purposes  and  tranquillity  of  mind.  Let  the  year 
which  I  have  now  begun  be  spent  to  thy  glory,  and  to  the 
furtherance  of  my  salvation.  Take  not  from  me  thy  Holy  Spirit, 
but  as  death  approaches  prepare  me  to  api>car  joyfully  in  thy 
presence,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen." 


THE    FIRTII    OF    LOltNE.  Ill 

after  their  arrival,  Ladj  Lochbuj  proposed  that  he 
(the  Doctor)  shoukl  liavc  some  cold  "  sheep's  head" 
for  breakfast.  Sir  Allan  "  seemed  surprised  at  hi.-i 
sister's  vulgarity ;  but,"  says  Boswell,  "  from  a  mis- 
chievous love  of  sport,  I  took  her  part,  and  very 
gravely  said,  '  I  think  it  is  but  fair  to  give  him  an 
offer  of  it,  and  if  he  does  not  choose  it,  he  may  let  it 
alone.'  So,  when  Johnson  entered  the  room,  Lady 
Lochbuy  said  to  him,  '  Do  you  take  any  cold  sheep's 
head,  sir?'  '  No,  IMadam  !'  ho  tliundered,  in  a  tone  of 
sm-prise  and  anger."  The  sequel  is  perfect,  in  Bos- 
well's  own  words  :  "  '  It  is  here,  sir,'  said  she,  suppos- 
ing he  had  refused  it  to  save  the  trouble  of  bringing 
it  in.  Thus  they  went  on  at  cross  purposes,  till  he 
confirmed  his  refusal  in  a  manner  not  to  be  misunder- 
stood ;  while  I  sat  quietly  by,  and  enjoyed  my  success." 
Why  the  good  Doctor  should  have  refused  a  capital 
dish,  in  such  a  way,  is  quite  beyond  the  question. 

We  were  soon  rounding  Duart  Point,  with  the 
Lady's  Isle  and  Lismore  Lighthouse  on  our  quarter. 
The  ordinary  Highland  tourist  has  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  this  part  of  the  firth  upon  the  deck  of  his 
steamer,  and  it  is  at  all  times  a  sight  wortli  seeing — 
the  tides  between  the  Lady's  Rock  and  the  Light- 
house causing  innumerable  whirls,  eddies,  and  counter- 
currents,  very  similar  to  those  of  the  Dorus  Mhor,  and 
of  course  in  rough  weather  raising  a  very  heavy  sea. 
As  we  passed,  all  around  rock  and  lighthouse  was 
white  with  foam,  save  where  the  eddies  whirled  the 
surface  smooth.  Leavins;  the  boiling  sheet  behind 
us,  we  ran  into  the  Sound  of  Mull ;  past  Duart  Castle 
and  Duart  i3ay ;  past  the  little  village  of  Craignure 


d 


112  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

aild   the  wood-fringed   hills   of  Scallastle ;   past   the 
great  Highlands  '-f  Morven,  which  rose  to  the  right, 
with  bluff,  red-tinted  crags  descending  eheer  into  the 
sea ;  past  Ai'dtornish  Castle  on  its  promontory,  and 
the  tiny  entrance  to  "  green  Loch  Aline's  land-locked 
bay" — and  bre  long  we  were  abreast   of  the  outlying 
rocks  and  isles  of  Salen,  with  Aros  Castle  looming 
distinct  against  the  sunset,  and  saw  Ben  More  and 
Bcntalloch,  the  monarchs  of  Mull,  rise  up  suddenly 
behind  us,  darkening  as  the  sunlight  faded.     Still  the 
wind  blew  on  our  quarter,  and,  now  in  smooth  water, 
we  rushed  along,  leaving  on  our  right  the  parish  of 
Morven,  with  its  fine  stretches  of  green  land  and  bushy 
vvood,  and  on  our  left  the  land  of  Mull,  seeming  wilder 
and  more  precipitous  the  nearer  we  drew  to  Tober- 
mory,    It  was   a  glorious   race.     Ere   dark  we   had 
passed  several  of  the  fishing  fleet,  and  were  fast  gain- 
ing on  some  of  the  others;  and  still  the  breeze  kept 
just  steady  and  strong  enough  for  us  to  carry  can- 
vas.    Old  castles  and  fantastic  headlands  faded  and 
darkened  as  we  sailed.      Picture  after  picture  grew 
and  changed.     The  moon  rose  as  we  passed  Calve 
Island  and  swept  round  to  Tobermory  Bay ;  and  here, 
as  it  was  necessary  to  come  close  up  to  the  wind,  the 
little  vessel  half-drowned  herself  in  lying  over  under 
her  great   sail.      Five   minutes   after,   however,   the 
anchor  was  down  in  the  bay,  and  all  parties  on  board 
the  little  yacht  turned  in,  thoroughly  exhausted  with 
the  ])leasurc  and  excitement  of  the  day. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  describe  Tobermory.  To 
our  mind,  putting  aside  the  excellence  of  its  bay  as  an 
anchorage,  it  is  simply  the  ugliest  and  dreariest  place 


THE   FlllTll    OF   LORNE.  113 

in  the  islands.  The  climate  is  detestable,  the  rainfall 
unceiising,  the  inns  vile,  all  things  abominable.  Yet 
this  h  an  migcnerous  description,  since  Tobermory 
commands  a  fine  view  of  the  mouth  of  that  most 
delightful  of  Highland  lakes.  Loch  Sunart,  and  of  the 
adjoining  mountains  of  Ai'dnamurchan."  On  the 
present  occasion  we  were  anxious  to  get  back  to 
Lome  as  soon  as  possible.  When  day  broke  it  was 
raining  hard,  but  to  our  joy  the  little  wind  there  was 
came  from  the  west.  As  we  ran  out  of  the  bay,  the 
dim  lights  of  dawn  were  dappling  the  base  of  the 
hills  of  Ardnamurchan,  and  the  waters  of  Sunart 
loomed  dark  below,  with  a  still  gleam  of  silvery  calm 
stretching  across  the  mouth  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  black  Stirks — two  small  rocky  isles.  Mighty 
veils  of  gray  vapor  covered  the  distant  mountains, 
save  in  one  distant  place  to  the  north,  where  the  dark- 
ness was  rent  by  a  moist  gleam  of  light  and  showed 
the  livid  peak  of  some  great  hill.  Behind  us,  as  we 
ran  east,  the  great  Ocean  loomed,  with  the  slant 
shadows  of  the  rain  drawn  in  long  streaks  between 
water  and  cloud,  and  the  sea  glittering  below  like 
dark-blue  steel  misted  with  breath.  All  the  heavens 
was  clouded,  but,  in  Lachlan's  parlance,  "  she  was 
going  to  be  a  good  day." 

It  was  a  good  day,  and  a  long  one.  The  wind 
came  and  went,  shifting  between  west  and  west-by- 
south,  often  failing  altogether;  and  the  rain  fell, 
more  or  less,  constantly.  We  made  slow  work  of  it, 
though  we  caiTied  our  gaff-topsail,  and  though  now 
and  then  we  got  a  squall  which  shook  and  buried  the 
boat.     By  three  in  the  afternoon  we  were  only  off  the 


114  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

mouth  of  Loch  Aline,  fifteen  miles  from  our  starting- 
place,  floating  on  the  slack  tide,  and  liardly  malvinj^ 
an  inch  of  way.  But,  nevertlieless,  it  was  a  day  to  be 
remembered.  Xevcr  did  the  Wanderer  feast  liis 
vision  on  finer  efiects  of  vapor  and  cloud  ;  never  did 
ho  see  the  hills  possessed  with  such  mystic  power  and 
meaning.  The  "grays"  were  everywhere,  of  all 
depths,  from  the  dark,  slumbei'ous  gray  of  the  unbro- 
ken cloud-mass  on  the  hill-top  to  the  silvery  gray  of 
the  innumerable  spears  of  the  rain  ;  and  there  were 
bits  of  brown,  too,  when  the  light  broke  out,  which 
would  have  gladdened  the  inmost  soul  of  a  painter. 
One  little  picture,  all  in  a  sort  of  neutral  tint,  abides 
in  liis  memory  as  lie  writes.  It  was  formed  by  the 
dark  silhouette  of  Ardtornish  Castle  and  promontory, 
with  the  winter  sky  rent  above  it;  and  a  flood  of 
white  light  behind  it  just  reaching  the  stretch  of  sea 
at  the  extremity  of  the  point,  and  turning  it  to  the 
color  of  glistening  white-lead.  That  was  all;  and 
the  words  convey  little  or  nothing  of  what  the 
Wanderer  saw.  But  the  efiect  was  ethereal  in  the 
extreme,  finer  by  far  than  that  of  any  moonlight. 

After  we  had  been  becalmed  for  an  hour  off  the 
Sheep  Islands,  which  lie  between  Loch  Aline  and 
Scallasdale,  we  saw  the  water  blacken  far  behind  us, 
and  Lachlan  began  to  whistle  up  the  wind  ;  but  it 
was  eight  miles  off  and  traveling  very  slowly,  though 
there  seemed  plenty  of  it.  It  was  quite  another  liour 
before  it  reached  us,  and  then  it  seemed  very  unde- 
cided whether  to  blow  on  or  die ;  gaining  in  vigor, 
however,  it  took  us  by  fits  and  starts  to  within  a  mile 
of  the  lighthouse  of  Lismore ;  grew  still  stronger,  and 


THE    FIUTII    OF    LOllNE.  115 

took  U3  anotlier  half  mile  nearer  ;  and  finally,  for  no 
reason  that  we  could  discover,  refused  to  go  with  ua 
an  inch  farther.  We  were  now  in  the  midst  of  the 
fierce  ebb-tide  setting  from  the  Lady's  Rock,  witli  the 
waves  leaping  round  us  and  the  eddies  wliirling,  and 
a  roar  like  thunder  in  our  cars.  Then  occurred  a 
succession  of  Tantalus-tricks  of  the  most  aggravating 
sort.  Where  t]^e  tide  boiled  there  was  not  a  breath  of 
wind,  and  we  were  whirled  backward,  this  way  and 
that,  till  we  again  reached  the  black  shadow  where 
the  wind  was  blowing.  Then  the  wind,  which  was 
really  strong,  drove  us  again  into  the  tide — which  in 
its  turn  a<2;ain  drove  us  backward.  This  occurred 
again  and  again,  in  spite  of  all  our  skill.  The  breeze 
<^ame  on  only  by  inches,  though  our  superstitious 
Lachlan  whistled  madly.  By  and  by  we  began 
drifting  rapidly  up  the  broad  arm  of  the  firth,  which 
runs  northward  between  Morvcn  and  the  long  green 
ish^nd  of  Lismore,  and  only  by  frantic  pulling  with 
the  long  oars  did  we  get  out  of  the  way  of  an  ugly 
rock  lying  half  a  mile  out  from  the  island.  By  this 
time  we  were  miserably  wet  and  cold — and  hungry, 
too,  for  we  had  fared  scantily.  At  last,  to  our  joy,  a 
breeze  came  off  the  Morven  shore  to  reinforce  the  lazy 
breeze  from  the  sound,  and  we  ran  on  bravely  till  we 
got  into  the  full  strength  of  the  tide-way  just  abreast 
of  the  lighthouse.  Here,  though  the  breeze  continued, 
we  stuck,  fairly  anchored  between  wind  and  tide,  and, 
in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  the  helmsman,  whirling 
about  at  the  mercy  of  the  elements,  with  the  waves 
leaping  round  us  and  the  foam  leaping  over  us,  and 
the  savage  water  roaring  as  if  to  swallow  the  little 


ilG  THE   LAND   OP   LORNE. 

boat.  "  Up  with  the  topsail,  Lachlan  !"  It  was  done, 
and  the  yacht  dived  forward  a  few  yards,  with  her 
bowsprit  submerged,  and  the  green  waves  rolling  off 
lier  bows.  But  the  wind  was  yet  no  match  for  the 
tide.  Now  we  got  forward  a  short  distance ;  then  we 
swept  back  in  an  eddy.  An  hour  passed  thus.  More 
than  once  we  were  swept  so  uncomfortably  near  to 
the  lighthouse  that  we  had  to  beat  i^p  to  windward 
with  the  tide — and  then  we  should  have  foundered 
indeed,  if  Lachlan  had  not  been  smart  in  hauling 
down  the  gaff-topsail.  Not  for  another  half  hour, 
v/hen  the  tide  began  to  slacken,  did  we  get  through 
the  narrow  passage,  and  by  that  time  all  on  board 
were  dripping  from  head  to  foot;  and  the  little  yacht, 
hull  and  sail,  was  bathed  in  salt  water.  Do  you 
wonder  that  our  fii-st  act,  on  reaching  the  smooth 
water  of  the  firth,  was  to  get  out  the  whisky-bottie 
and  serve  round  the  glorious  spirit  with  no  niggard 
hand? 

Out  in  the  open  firth  the  breeze  was  slack  and 
fitful,  but  we  crept  slowly  over  toward  Oban,  the 
white  smoke  of  which  was  visible  seven  miles  away 
between  the  north  end  of  Kcrrera  and  the  woody  prom- 
ontory of  Dunollie.  Northward,  we  saw  the  long 
dark  arm  of  Loch  Linnhe — here  and  there  dotted  with 
isles  and  rocks — closed  in  suddenly  where  the  house 
of  Airds  gleamed  like  a  wreath  of  snow  in  the  midst 
of  its  woody  bay,  and  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
mountains  slowly  darkening  in  twilight.  Dim  and 
melancholy  loomed  Dunstaffnage  to  the  east,  with 
Ben  Cruachan  and  the  Shepherds  of  Loch  Etive 
blackening  behind  her.     Far  southward,  off  Kerrera, 


THE   FIRTH    OF   LORNE.  Il7 

ttoro  was  already  a  ghostly  gleam  on  the  ocean,  cast 
by  the  invisible  moon. 

But  if  wo  looked  for  moonlight  wo  were  doomed 
to  disappointment.  When  we  had  reached  the  center 
of  the  firth  it  was  quite  dark ;  and,  to  add  to  our 
troubles,  the  wind  had  died  entirely  away,  as  is  its 
wont  on  many  summer  nights,  when  dead  calm  lasts 
from  evening  to  dawn.  There  was  nothinc^  for  it  but 
to  put  out  the  long  oars,  and  pull  the  little  yacht 
toward  the  anchorage,  five  miles  distant.  Laclilan 
worked  one  oar  manfully,  singing  a  monotonous 
Gaelic  chant  peculiar  to  him,  while  the  Wanderer 
labored  at  the  other.  As  the  mist  and  darkness 
deepened,  it  became  impossible  to  tell  what  progress 
was  being  made.  Gradually,  moreover,  the  whole 
land  changed  its  form,  and  it  became  uncertain  where 
lay  the  narrow  entrance  to  Oban  Bay.  He  who  has 
never  been  afloat  on  such  a  night,  off  such  a  coast  as 
that  of  Lome,  can  scarcely  conceive  how  mysteriously  it 
seems  to  change,  eluding  the  knowledge  of  the  most 
experienced  pilots.  Clouds  seem  mountains ;  shadows, 
islands ;  islands,  shadows ;  all  is  ghostly  and  con- 
fused. For  a  long  time  we  were  steering  by  what 
seemed  the  Maiden  Island,  which  lies  at  the  mouth  of 
the  entrance  to  Oban,  but  we  found  presently  that  we 
had  been  looking  at  a  solid  bank  of  mist  sleeping  in 
the  silent  sea.  At  last,  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
shadow  of  Kerrera,  but  Kerrera  is  six  miles  long,  and 
we  knew  not  what  part  of  the  island  we  were  approach- 
ing; so  that  at  any  moment  we  might  strike  one 
of  those  rocks  and  reefs  with  which  its  shores  are 
sown.      It   therefore    became   expedient    to   let    tho 


i 


118  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

yacht  lie  off,  wliile  the  Wanderer  rowed  in  the  punt 
toward  the  land  and  tried  to  make  out  tlie  bearings 
of  the  coast.  A  few  strokes  of  the  paddles,  and  he 
was  alone  in  the  solid  black  shadow — literally  "dark- 
ness visible" — of  the  island.  He  rowed  on  for  some 
minutes,  and  then  leant  on  his  oars  to  reconnoiter. 
The  darkness  was  awful,  the  stillness  was  deathlike, 
broken  only  by  the  wash  of  the  fathomless  water, 
and  the  dreary  moan  of  the  sea-birds  roosting  on 
tlie  isles.  Once  or  twice  the  curlew  uttered,  far  off 
in  the  night,  his  weird,  melancholy  whistle,  as  he 
flew  from  one  ghostly  bay  to  another ;  but  neither 
by  sight  nor  sound  could  the  Wanderer  discover  his 
precise  whereabouts.  The  more  he  rowed,  the  more 
the  land  changed  shape  and  receded.  All  was  mys- 
terious darkness.  In  sheer  despair,  he  turned  back 
toward  the  yacht,  which  was  lost  in  the  glQom. 
He  shouted.  The  cliffs  moaned  an  answer ;  and 
a  sea-gull  screamed.  lie  shouted  again  and  again. 
At  last,  faint  and  far  away,  he  heard  another  voice 
crying ;  and  so  guided,  he  at  last  got  on  board  the 
yacht. 

Not  for  hours  after,  when  the  atmosphere  became 
somewhat  clearer,  did  we  succeed  in  making  out  the 
ehapc  of  the  land,  and  when  we  did  so,  we  found  we 
had  drifted  far  down  Iverrera,  and  were  not  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  one  of  the  worst  outlying  reefs.  It 
was  weary  work  pulling  along  the  dark  coast  of  the 
island.  By  the  time  we  got  to  our  anchorage  dawn 
was  breaking  ;  and  just  as  we  hauled  down  our  sails, 
a  fresh  morning  breeze  sprang  up  and  whistled  merri- 
ly in  the  rigging. 


THE   FIRTH   OF  LORNE.  119 

During  tliG  little  voyage  that  has  just  been  re- 
corded, the  Ocean  Queen  had  behaved  tolerably,  for 
the  Bimple  reason  that  she  had  no  chance  of  show- 
ing her  worst  qualities,  namely,  crankness  under 
canvas  and  awkwardness  in  "  comin<i;  round."  On 
other  occasions  she  fully  justified  her  soubriquet 
of  the  Coffin.  "Whenever  the  wind  blew  hard,  she 
could  not  carry  a  rag  of  canvas  "  beating ;"  and  when 
squalls  came,  it  was  a  miracle  she  floated  at  all,  so 
wildly  did  she  heel  over  and  ship  the  green  water. 
She  was  certainly  a  prize  for  any  used-up  person  in 
search  of  a  new  sensation.  Then,  again,  her  clumsi- 
ness occasioned  other  perils.  Twice,  in  the  tideway 
off  the  mouth  of  Loch  Etive,  she  was  nearly  swept  to 
destruction  because  she  would  not  answer  the  helm. 
Once,  she  was  driven  like  a  straw  past  the  great  rock 
at  the  mouth  of  Loch  Aline,  actually  scraping  the 
weeds  thereon,  and  only  escaping  by  an  inch."'^  In 
short,  she  supplied  the  owner's  system  with  a  series 
of  gratuitous  galvanic  shocks,  which  a  very  dar- 
ing person  might  have  deemed  pleasant  excite- 
ment, but  which  to  the  Wanderer's  mind  was  any- 
thinor  but  delijxhtful.  Even  a  soldier  in  war-time  is 
not  always  under  fire,  or  he  would  soon  sicken  and 
grow  weary ;  but  in  the  Ocean  Queen  we  were  ever 

*  The  worst  of  these  sharp  boats  is  this  :  if  they  do  take  the 
ground,  whether  running  on  a  sandbank  or  striking  on  a  reef, 
they  liccl  over  and  fill  at  once,  in  spite  of  all  your  efforts  to  save 
them  ;  and,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  "  legs  "  (or  wooden  props  for 
the  sides)  are  quite  useless.  Now,  a  broad-bottomed  fishing-boat 
sits  on  a  rock  or  mudbank  as  snugly  as  a  bird,  provided  she  does 
not  fill,  and  can  wait  for  the  next  tide  to  float  her  off  into  deep 
water. 


120  THE   LAND   OF   LORNB. 

more  or  less  in  peril,  all  tlio  ferocious  el  omenta  beinpf 
leairued  airainst  a  cockshell. 

Not  without  great  reluctance,  however,  did  the 
Wanderer  part  with  the  Ocean  Queen.  Crank  and 
fitful  as  she  was,  frequently  as  she  had  put  his  life  in 
danger,  he  had  learned  to  regard  her  with  affection. 
How  many  a  glorious  scene  he  had  beheld  from  tliat 
little  cockpit !  how  many  a  golden  day  he  had  wasted, 
stretched  full  length  on  that  narrow  deck  !  With  all 
her  faults,  the  little  yacht  was  beautiful  to  look  upon, 
and  very  snug  for  her  tonnage. 

But  vv^hen  the  little  Tern  came  in  her  place,  the 
fickleness  of  man's  heart  was  proven,  for  the  old  love 
was  gone  in  a  moment,  and  the  new  love  took  its 
place.  The  Tern  v/as  two  tons  smaller,  and  belon^^ed 
to  the  same  family — being  a  racer  which  had  won 
several  prizes ;  but  she  had  far  better  "  bearings,"  be- 
ing much  shorter  in  proportion  to  her  beam.  She, 
too,  was  of  course  a  toy ;  a  mere  little  wind-straw  of  a 
boat,  though  destined  to  weather  many  a  storm  that 
tried  bigger  vessels.  In  her  tiny  cabin,  where  it  was 
impossible  to  sit  upright,  we  were  to  sleep  for  manj 
months,  while  exploring  the  strange  shores  of  the 
Hebrides,  from  Lome  to  the  Long  Island.  Lachlan 
Finlay  went  back  to  his  shop,  there  to  resume  his  old 
occupation  of  sitting  on  a  sack  and  whittling  sticks ; 
and  in  his  place,  when  the  little  Terii  was  ready  for 
sailing,  her  tiny  cabin  well  stocked  with  all  the  nec- 
essaries for  a  long  cruise,  Hamish  Shaw,  the  pilot, 
came  from  his  fishing  in  the  Firth  of  Clyde  and 
swung  up  his  hammock  in  the  forecastle,  just  as  the 
cuckoos  were  swarming  over  every  hill  in  Lome. 


THE   TERN'S   PIUST   FLIGHT.  121 


CHAPTER    VL 

THE    "tern's"    FIIiST   FLIGHT. 

The  Urn  Afloat — Off  Ardnamurchan— First  Glimpses  of  the  Islos— Tha 
Cuchullia  Hills— Gonoral  Rolbctions— Flashing  Forward — Tlio  Partjon 
Board — The  Scaur  of  Eig— lium — Birds  of  tlio  Ocean — Muck — Sunset  on 
the  Waters— Loch  Scresort,  Rum— The  Gaelic  Skipper — The  Widow — A 
CUmb  among  the  Peaks — View  of  the  Western  Ocean  from  Rum — Tho 
Tern  weighing  Anchor — Kihnory  Bay — First  View  of  Canna — At  Anchor. 

When  the  little  cutter  Tern,  agile  and  beautiful  as 
the  sea-swallow  from  which  she  takes  her  name, 
weighed  anchor  in  Tobermory  Harbor,  and  began  to 
work  westward  through  the  Sound  of  Mull  toward 
Ardnamurchan,  the   long;  swell  comino-  in  from  the 

Jo  O 

Atlantic  was  beirinnin";  to  whiten  under  a  stiff  breeze 
from  the  northwest ;  and  it  became  a  question  wheth- 
er or  not  she  should  fold  down  her  wings  and  run 
back  to  her  nest  in  the  baj. 

We  looked  wistfully  to  windward,  and  began  to 
doubt  our  wisdom  in  venturing  so  far  on  board  so  tiny 
a  craft — seven  tons  register,  open  "  aft,"  and  rigged 
witli  a  heavy  boom  and  racing  mainsail  sure  to  bring 
her  on  her  broadside  in  stormy  weather.  The  gloomy 
prognostics  of  both  fair-weather  yachtsmen  and  hard- 
weather  seamen  were  sharply  remembered,  as  the  big 
rollers  began  to  break  wildly  over  our  weather-bow, 
and  the  strong  wind  to  lay  the  decks  under  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  cockpit  "  combing."     But  the  Viking  in 


122  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

the  blood  prevailed.  A  third  reef  was  taken  in  the 
mainsail,  and  the  little  craft  was  urged  on;  and 
scarcely  had  she  beaten  two  miles  and  a  half  to  wind- 
w^ard,  when  the  breeze  died  suddenly  away,  and  the 
waters,  washing  troublously,  grew  weaker  and  weaker, 
till  the  tops  of  the  long  heaving  rollers  were  almost 
calm.  A  light  air  and  a  strong  tide  soon  carried  the 
Tern  outside  of  Ardnamurchan,  where,  dripping  and 
quivering  like  a  thing  of  life,  she  has  paused  nearly 
becalmed,  with  the  lonely  islands  whither  she  is  bound 
opening  one  by  one  on  the  dim  and  shadowy  sea. 

To  the  south  lies  Mull  in  mist,  piling  her  dull,  vast 
hills  out  above  the  line  of  breaking  foam  ;  while  away 
to  the  southwest,  cairn  after  cairn,  looming  through 
the  waters,  show  where  barren  Coll  is  weltering  in  the 
gloomy  waste.  To  the  far  west,  only  cloud  resting  on 
cloud,  above  the  dim,  unbroken  water-line  of  the 
Atlantic.  But  northward  all  brightens,  for  the  storm 
has  passed  thence  with  the  wind,  and  the  sunlight  has 
crept  out  cold  and  clear  on  craggy  Rum,  whose 
heights  stretch  gray  and  ghostly  against  a  cloudless 
«ky.  Hard  by,  in  shadow,  looms  the  gigantic  Scaur 
of  Eig,  looking  down  on  the  low  and  grassy  line  of 
Muck, 

"  Set  as  an  emerald  in  the  casing  eea." 

JBeyond  all  these,  peeping  between  Rum  and  Eig, 
penciled  in  faint  and  ghostly  peaks,  hued  like  the 
heron's  breast,  are  the  wondrous  Cuchullin  Hills  of 
Skye — bom  of  the  volcano  on  some  strange  morning 
in  the  age  of  mighty  births.  The  eye  seeks  to  go  on 
farther.  It  rests  on  those  Btill  heights,  and  in  a 
moment  the  perfect  sense  of  solitude  glides  into  the 


THE   TERN'S   FIRST   FLIGHT.  123 

soul;  thought   Hocrns    stationary,    brooding  over    life 
subdued. 

For  a  sight  such  as  that  words  are  the  merest 
pencil-scratches,  and  for  the  feeling  awakened  by  such 
sights  there  is  no  kind  of  symbol  at  all.  In  trying 
accurately  to  describe  nature,  one  glides  at  once  into 
the  mood  of  the  cicerone  ;  for  the  moment  of  enjoy- 
ment has  past,  and  the  pain  of  explanation  has  begun. 
The  still  power  of  waters  is  not  quite  to  be  felt  until 
the  very  body  and  blood  have  known  their  stormy 
might ;  and  how  better  know  their  might  than  by 
slipping  out  upon  the  waste  in  as  tiny  a  vessel  as  can 
live  thereon  ?  The  smaller  the  craft,  the  fewer  the 
fellow-beings  at  hand,  the  intenser  the  enjoyment  both 
of  storm  and  calm.  It  is  a  proud  pleasure  to  dash  like 
a  soa-fowl  under  the  very  mouth  of  the  tempest,  con- 
scious of  the  life  in  one's  veins,  drunken  as  it  were 
with  the  excitement  and  uncertainty  of  the  hour — 
awake  to  every  quiver  of  the  little  yielding  creature 
under  the  wings  of  which  you  fly,  feeling  its  panting 
breath  come  and  go  with  your  own,  till,  perchance,  it& 
wings  are  folded  down  close,  and  it  swims  with  you 
for  very  life  before  the  elements  which  follow  scream- 
ing in  its  track.  After  a  flight  so  fine,  the  soul  is. 
ready  for  strange,  calm  waters  and  melancholy  peaks^ 
fit  to  feel  the  pathos  and  sweetness  of  things  at  rest, 
ending  with  that  dim,  pathetic  tremble,  amid  which  we 
seem  to  feel  God's  shadow  in  our  souls.  In  this  life, 
and  perhaps  in  lives  beyond,  there  seems  need  of  some 
such  preparation  for  great  spiritual  peace  ;  and  it  is 
therefore  a  poor  soul  which  has  not  felt  some  verj 
rough  weather. 


124  THE    LAND    OP   LOllNE. 

The  British  lover  of  beauty  wanders  far,  but  we 
question  if  he  finds  anywhere  a  picture  more  exquisite 
tlian  opens  out,  vista  after  vista,  among  these  wondrous 
Isles  of  the  North.  Here,  year  after  year,  they  lie 
almost  neglected,  seen  only  by  the  hard-eyed  trader 
and  the  drifting  seaman ;  for  that  mosaic  being, 
the  typical  tom"ist,  seldom  quits  the  inner  chain  of 
mainland  lakes,  save,  perhaps,  when  a  solitary  "  Satur- 
day Reviewer  "  oozes  dull  and  bored  out  of  the  mist 
at  Broadford  or  Portree,  takes  a  rapid  glare  at  the 
chilly  Cucliullins,  and,  shivering  with  enthusiasm, 
hurries  back  to  the  south.  The  heights  of  Rum,  the 
kelp-caverns  of  Islay,  tlie  fantastic  clifik  of  Eig,  scarce- 
ly ever  draw  the  sight-seer  ;  Canna  lies  unvisited  in 
the  solitary  sea;  and  as  for  the  Outer  Hebrides — 
from  Stomoway  to  Barra  Head — they  dwell  ever 
lonely  in  a  mist,  warning  off  all  fair-weather  wander- 
ers. A  little,  a  very  little,  has  been  said  about  tliese 
isles ;  but  to  all  ordinary  people  they  are  less  familiar 
than  Cairo,  and  farther  off  than  Calcutta. 

Forbidding  in  their  stern  beauty,  isolated  and  sea- 
surrounded,  they  possess  no  superficial  fascinations; 
their  power  is  one  that  grows ;  their  spell  is  that  of  the 
glamour,  liolding  only  the  slowly-selected  soul.  Not 
merely  because  these  isles  are  so  strangely,  darkly 
lovely,  but  because  we  owe  to  them  so  much  that  is 
noblest  and  best  in  the  heart  of  our  modern  life,  did  it 
seem  fitting  to  attempt  some  faint  pictures  of  their 
scenery  and  their  people  ;  and  to  wander  from  island 
to  island,  mixing  freely  with  poor  folk,  seeing  and 
noting  what  may  afterward  pass  into  noble  nourish- 


THE    TEIIN'8    FIRST    FLIGHT.  126 

ment  for  the  heart,  is  the  errand  of  those  oti  board  the 

little  To^. 

"  For  many  a  tale 
Traditionary  round  the  mountains  Inin/^, 
And  many  a  legend,  peopling  tlic  dark  woods." 

As  the  eye  became  more  and  more  accustomed  to  hill 
and  sea,  as  the  first  mood  of  awe  and  pleasiire  at  the 
■weird  vistas  wore  away,  human  figures,  group  after 
group,  before  invisible,  loomed  slowly  into  view ;  the 
kelp-burner  moving  blaclcly  through  the  smoke  of  his 
fire  on  the  savage  shore ;  the  herrin-fishers  tossing 
at  their  nets,  while  the  midnight  sea  gleams  phospho- 
rescent below  and  the  clouds  blacken  in  the  lift  above ; 
the  wild,  wandering  women,  foul  with  the  fish  they 
are  gutting,  shrieking  like  the  cloud  of  gulls  that 
hovers  over  their  heads;  the  quaint  country-folk 
streaming  down  the  little  ports  on  holidays  and  fair- 
days  ;  the  shepherd  on  his  hill ;  the  lobster-fisher  in 
the  quiet  bay  ;  the  matron  grinding  her  corn  and 
weaving  her  petticoat  with  instruments  hundreds  of 
years  "  behind  the  age  " — and  all  these  moving  against 
BO  mighty  a  background,  and  speaking  a  speech 
Btranger  to  common  ear  than  any  modern  tongue  of 
Europe — a  speech  old  as  the  hills  and  full  of  their 
mysterious  music  and  power.  Here  surely  was  some- 
tliing  for  the  eye  and  heart  to  rest  upon,  a  life  subtly 
coloring  ours  through  many  generations,  yet  preserved 
quite  fresh  and  unchanged  by  the  spirit  of  the  waters — 
a  life  far  more  surely  part  of  us  and  om*s  than  that  of 
Florence,  or  Paris,  or  Wiesbaden. 

To  lie  becalmed  in  the  little  Tern  off  the  terrible 
Rhu,  the  Aj-dnamurchan,  most  di-eaded  by  those  best 


126  THE   LAND    OF    LOliNE. 

acquainted  with  Ita  mighty  tides  and  fierce  waters, 
is  by  no  means  an  unmixed  pleasure.  Yonder  stretches 
the  ocean,  dead-still  now,  but  likely  to  be  roused  in  an 
instant  into  frenzy  ;  and,  even  more  to  be  dreaded, 
half  a  mile  on  the  starboard  bow,  the  gloomy  clifis  of 
the  ])oint  seem  coming  nearer,  as  the  fitful  eddies  of 
the  tide  swing  the  vessel  this  way  and  that.  Out  go 
the  long  oars,  and  slowly,  very  slowly,  the  Tern  draws 
from  the  shore.  Two  long  hours  of  hard  pulling,  with 
scarcely  any  perce])tible  progress,  is  not  altogether 
desirable,  even  in  the  presence  of  a  scene  so  fair ;  and 
one  whistles  for  the  wind  more  and  more  impatiently. 
At  last  the  waters  ripple  black  to  the  northward,  the 
hugh  mainsail-boom  swings  over  with  a  heavy  jerk, 
and  in  a  minute  the  Tern  flashes  ahead,  full  of  new 
life,  and  the  sky  brightens  over  a  fresh  and  sparkling 
sea,  and,  with  hearts  leaping,  all  canvas  set,  and  the 
little  kittiwakes  screaming  in  our  track,  we  leave  the 
mighty  Rhu  behind. 

We  are  four — the  skipper,  the  pilot,  the  Wanderer, 
and  the  cook — only  the  seaman  being  a  sailor  by  pro- 
fession. The  skipper,  to  describe  him  briefly,  is  a  wild, 
hirsute  being,  generally  inclined  (as  Walt  Whitman 
puts  it)  to  "  loafe  and  invite  his  soul."  The  pilot  is 
of  another  turn,  a  Gaelic  fisher,  deep  in  knowledge  of 
small  craft,  and  full  of  the  dreamy  reasonings  of  his 
race.     As  for  the  Wanderer — 

"  A  subtle-souled  psychologist. 
All  things  he  seemed  to  understand, 
Of  old  or  new,  or  eea  or  land, 
But  bis  own  mind — which  was  a  mist ;  " 

in  other  words,  he  is  a  nondescript,  a  mooner  on  the 


THE   TERN'S    FIRST    FLIGHT.  127 

skirts  of  philosophy,  whose  business  it  is  to  take  notes 
by  flood  and  fell,  and  cater  for  the  kitchen  with  rod 
and  gun.  What  he  provides  is  prepared  to  perfection 
by  the  cook,  in  a  den  about  the  size  of  an  ordinary 
cupboard,  and  served  up  in  a  cabin  where  Tom 
Thumb  might  have  stood  upright,  and  a  shortish  man 
have  just  lain  at  full  length.  Over  the  sleeping  ac- 
commodation let  us  draw  a  veil. 

As  the  Tern  flies  nearer  to  the  mighty  Scaur  of 
Eig,  a  beetling  precipice,  towering  1300  and  odd  feet 
above  the  sea,  the  sun  is  sloping  far  down  westward 
behind  the  lofty  peaks  of  Rum ;  and  in  deep,  purple 
shadow,  over  the  starboard  bow,  the  rugged  lines  of 
the  mainland,  from  Loch  Moidart  to  the  Sound  of 
Sleat,  open  up,  gloam  strangely,  and  fade,  ridge  after 
ridge,  away.  The  distant  Cuchullins  grow  yet  more 
ghostly  against  the  delicate  harebell  of  the  sky, 
catching  on  their  peaks  the  roseate  tints  of  sunset ; 
and  the  mountains  of  Rum  deepen  more  and  more  in 
under-shadow,  as  the  light  flames  keener  on  their 
rounded  heights.  The  wind  falls  again,  faint  aira 
come  and  go,  and  the  low  sound  of  the  sea  becomes 
full  of  a  strange  hush.  At  such  an  hour,  one  remem- 
bers with  a  chill  shiver  the  terrible  story  of  the  Cave 
of  Eig.  In  the  old  bloody  days,  the  inhabitants  had 
given  dire  offense  to  the  Macleods,  and  the  chief  came 
over,  with  all  his  clan  at  his  heels,  to  butcher  the 
offenders.  But  not  a  soul  was  visible — only  the  white 
snow ;  for  it  was  winter-time.  Every  inhabitant — ■ 
man,  woman,  and  child — had  taken  refuge  in  the 
great  cave.  The  Macleods  were  about  to  return  to 
their   boats  when   they  discovered  footprints  in  the 


128  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

Bnow.  Tracing  these,  they  came  to  the  month  of  the 
great  cave.  Then,  with  a  devilish  ingenuity,  the 
cruel  chief  ordered  a  great  fire  of  turf  and  fern  to  be 
lit  at  the  mouth  of  the  cavern.  There  was  no  escape; 
all  the  poor  shrieking  folk  were  suffocated.  This  is 
no  mere  legend,  but  horrible  truth.  Until  very  re- 
cently, the  cave  was  full  of  human  bones,  and  some 
remain  still,  though  the  busy  hands  of  visitors  have 
carried  off  the  most  perfect  remains.  "  Something 
ails  it  now — the  place  is  curst  1  "  One  sees  and  hears 
it  all — the  flame  shining  lurid  in  the  white  snow,  the 
black,  smoky  cloud  at  the  moutli  of  the  cave,  the 
grimly-grinning  caterans  piling  up  the  fire  with  wild 
yells,  and  the  wild  shrieks  of  the  murdered  floating 
out  upon  the  winter  wind  ! 

"  On  Scooreigg  next  a  warning  light 
Summoned  licr  warriors  to  the  fight ; 
A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  Macleod 
O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode  I 
When  all  in  vain  the  ocean-cave 
Its  refuge  to  its  victims  gave. 
The  chief,  relentless  in  his  wrath. 
With  blazing  heath  blockades  the  path  r 
In  dense  and  stifling  volumes  rolled, 
The  vapor  filled  the  caverncd  hold  I 
The  warrior-threat,  the  infant's  plain. 
The  mother's  scream,  were  heard  in  vain  ; 
The  vengeful  chief  maintains  his  fires. 
Till  in  the  vault  a  tribe  expires  ! 
The  bcncs    which  strew  that  cavern's  gloom, 
Too  well  attest  their  dismal  doom." 

As  we  draw  close  under  the  lee  of  Rum,  the  still 
Bea  is  darkened  on  every  side  with  patches  as  of  drift- 
ing Bea-weed,  and  there  is  a  still  flutter  as  of  innume- 


THE   TEIIN'S    FIRST   FLIGHT.  129 

rablo  little  wings.  Hither  and  thither,  skimming  the 
water  in  flocks  of  eight  or  ten,  dart  the  beautiful 
Bliearwatcrs  {p^ijjini  Angtorum  of  the  ornithologists), 
seizing  their  prey  from  the  sea  with  their  tender  feet 
as  they  fly  ;  while  under  them,  wherever  the  eye  rests, 
innimierablc  marrots  and  guillemots  float,  dive,  and 
rise.  All  these  have  their  nests  among  the  purple- 
shaded  clifl's  close  at  hand.  The  black  and  green  cor- 
morants are  there  too,  wary  and  solitary;  and  th& 
gulls,  from  the  lesser  black-backed  to  the  little  kitti- 
wake,  gather  thickly  over  one  dark  patch  of  floating 
birds  astern,  where,  doubtless,  the  tiny  herring  are 
darting  in  myriads.  Save  for  the  fitful  cry  of  the 
kittiwakes,  or  the  dull,  croaking  scream  of  a  solitary 
tern  beating  up  and  down  over  the  vessel,  all  is 
quite  still,  and  the  presence  of  these  countless  little 
fishers  only  deepens  the  solitude.  Quite  fearless  and 
■unsuspicious,  they  float  within  oar's  length  of  the  ves- 
eel,  diving  swiftly  at  the  last  moment,  and  coolly 
emerging  again  a  few  yards  distant.  Only  the  cor- 
morant keeps  aloof,  safe  out  of  gun  range.  Kank 
and  unsavory  as  this  glutton  is,  his  flesh  is  esteemed 
by  fishermen,  and  he  is  so  often  hunted  that  he  ia 
ever  on  the  watch  for  danger. 

Low,  undulating,  grassy,  yonder  is  Muck — the 
Gaelic  Eilan-na-Muchel,  or  Isle  of  Swine — Buchanan's 
Lxsula  Porcoinim.  It  is  green  and  fertile,  an  oasis  in 
the  waste.  Muck,  Eig,  Rum,  and  Canna  form  col- 
lectively the  Parish  of  Small  Isles,  with  the  pastor  of 
which  Hugh  Miller  took  his  well-known  geologic 
cruise.  It  must  be  no  lamb-hearted  man  who  carries 
the  gospel  over  these  waters  during  winter  weather. 


130  THE    LAND    OF    LOIiNE. 

Lower,  deeper  sinks  the  sun,  till  he  is  totally  hid- 
den heliind  the  hills.  Haskeval  and  Haleval,  the  two 
liif^hest  peaks  of  Eum,  throw  their  shadows  over  the 
drifting  7e;vi,  while  from  some  solitary  bay  inland 
the  oyster-catchers  and  sealarks  whistle  in  the  still- 
ness. A  night  mist  coming  from  the  west  deepens 
the  gloaming,  and  we  look  rather  anxiously  after  a 
harbor.  Somewhere,  not  far  away,  below  the  two 
peaks,  lies  a  little  loch,  with  safe  anchorage ',  but  no 
eyes,  except  those  of  a  native,  could  pick  it  out  in  the 
darkness.  We  drift  slowly  upward  on  the  flood-tide, 
eagerly  eyeing  every  nook  and  cranny  in  the  shadowy 
mass  at  our  side.  Just  as  the  day  dawns,  we  spy  the 
mouth  of  the  loch,  and  launching  the  long  oars,  make 
wearily  toward  it ;  but  the  anchor  is  soon  down,  all 
cares  are  over  for  the  time  being,  and,  after  pipes  and 
grog,  all  hands  turn  in  for  a  nap. 

Our  slumbers  are  sweet,  though  short,  and  ere  long 
we  are  up  on  deck,  looking  around  on  Loch  Scresort. 
Yiewed  in  the  soft,  sparkling  light  of  a  windless  sum- 
mer morning,  it  is  as  sweet  a  little  nook  as  ever 
Ulysses  mooned  away  a  day  in,  during  his  memorable 
voyage  homeward.  Though  merely  a  small  bay,  about 
a  mile  in  breadth,  and  curving  inland  for  a  mile  and  a 
half,  it  is  quite  sheltered  from  all  winds,  save  the  east, 
being  flanked  to  the  south  and  west  by  Haskeval  and 
Ilondeval,  and  guarded  on  the  northern  side  by  a  low 
range  of  heathery  slopes.  In  this  sunny  time  the 
sheep  are  bleating  from  the  shores,  the  yacht  lies 
double — yacht  and  shadow — and  the  still  bay  is  paint- 
ed richly  with  the  clear  reflection  of  the  mountains : 


THE   TERN'R   FIRST   PLIGHT.  131 

"  Not  a  feature  of  tho  hills 
Is  in  the  mirror  slighted." 

On  the  northern  point  of  tlic  loch,  where  the  old  red 
sandatono  is  piled  in  toni,  fantastic  heaps  high  over 
the  sea,  gulls  innumerable  sit  and  bask.  "  Croak  1 
croak ! "  cries  the  monstrous-hooded  crow  at  their 
backs,  perched  like  an  evil  spirit  on  the  very  head  of 
the  cliffs,  and  squinting  fiercely  at  the  far-off  sheep. 
A  bee  drones  drowsily  past  the  yacht,  completing  the 
sense  of  stillness  and  pastoral  life. 

Scattered  along  the  southern  side  of  the  bay  are  a 
few  poor  cottages,  rudely  built  of  stone  and  roofed 
with  peat  turfs,  and  at  the  head  of  the  loch  is  a  com- 
fortable, whitewashed  house,  the  abode  of  Captain 
Macleod  of  Dunvegan,  the  tenant  of  tho  island. 
There  is,  moreover,  a  rude  stone  pier,  where  a  small 
vessel  might  lie  secure  in  any  weather,  and  off  which 
a  battered  old  briirantino  is  even  now  unioadinpc  oat- 
meal  and  flour.  Casting  loose  the  punt,  we  row  over 
to  the  vessel,  and  begin  to  chat  with  the  shrewd-look- 
ing ancient  skipper,  who  is  superintending  the  passage 
of  the  sacks  into  a  skiff  alongside.  In  that  extra- 
ordinary dialect  called  Gaelic-English,  which  may  be 
described  as  a  wild  mingling  of  Gaelic,  bad  Irish,  and 
Lowland  Scotch,  he  gives  us  to  understand  that  he  is 
at  once  the  owner  and  master  of  his  craft,  and  that  he 
cruises  from  island  to  island  d urine;  the  summer, 
bartering  his  cargo  of  food  for  whatever  marketablo 
commodities  the  poor  folk  of  the  place  may  have  pre- 
pared. His  great  trade  is  with  the  fishers,  who  pay 
him  in  dried  fish,  chiefly  ling  and  cod ;  but  all  is  fish 
that  comes  to  his  net,  and  can  be  anyhow  cashed  in 


132  THE   LAND   OP  LORNE. 

the  soutli.  Doubtless,  tlie  odds  of  the  bargains  are 
quite  on  his  side.  In  answer  to  our  queries  as  to  the 
general  condition  of  the  islanders,  he  shakes  his  gray 
head  dismally,  and  gives  us  to  understand  that  but 
fur  him,  and  for  such  as  he,  many  a  poor  household 
would  jjerish  of  starvation. 

Starvation,  however,  does  not  seem  the  order  of  the 
day  in  Loch  Scresort.  On  landing,  and  making  for 
the  first  hut  at  hand,  we  find  the  cow,  with  her  calf 
by  her  side,  tethered  a  few  yards  from  the  dwelling, 
two  pigs  wallowing  in  the  peat-raire  close  by,  and  at 
least  a  dozen  cocks,  hens,  and  chickens,  running  to 
and  fro  across  the  threshold,  where  a  fi-esh,  well-fed 
matron,  with  a  smile  for  the  stranger,  salutes  us  in 
the  Gaelic  speech.  With  that  fine  old  grace  of  hos- 
pitality which  has  fled  forever  from  busier  scenes,  she 
leads  us  into  her  cottage — a  "  but  "  and  a  "  ben."  The 
apartment  into  which  we  are  shown,  despite  the  damp 
earthen  floor  and  mildewy  wall,  is  quite  a  palace  for 
the  Highlands;  for  it  has  a  wooden  ])rcss  bed,  wooden 
chairs  and  table,  and  a  rude  cupboard,  shapen  like  a 
wardrobe  ;  and  the  walls  are  adorned,  moreover,  by  a 
penny  almanac  and  a  picture  cut  out  of  the  "  Illustra- 
ted London  News."  Drink  fit  for  the  gods  is  speedily 
handed  round,  in  the  shape  of  foaming  bowls  of  new 
milk  fresh  from  the  udder — a  cup  of  welcome  invaria- 
bly offered  to  the  traveler  in  any  Highland  dwelling 
tliat  can  afford  it.  A  few  friendly  words  warm  up 
the  good  woman's  heart,  and  she  begins  to  prattle 
and  to  question.  She  is  a  childless  widow,  and  licr 
"man"  was  drowned.  She  dwells  here  all  alone; 
for  all  her  relatives  have  emigrated  to  Canada,  where 


THE   TERN'S  FITtRT  FLIGIIT.  133 

sho  hopes  pomo  day  to  join  tlicin.  On  hearini^  that 
we  have  passed  through  Ghisgow,  she  asks  eagerly  if 
■we  know  a  woman  called  Maggie,  who  sells  eggs  ;  the 
woman's  surname  slie  does  not  remember,  but  we 
must  have  noticed  her,  as  slie  is  splay-footed  and  has 
red  hair.  She  has  never  been  farther  south  than  Eig, 
and  hence  her  notion  of  big  cities.  She  longs  very- 
much  to  see  Tobermory  and  its  great  shops — also  to 
look  up  a  distant  kinsman,  who  has  flourished  there 
in  trade.  She  tells  us  much  of  the  laird  and  his  fam- 
ily— the  "folk  in  the  big  house;"  they  arc  decent, 
pious  people,  and  kind  to  the  poor.  Will  she  sell  ua 
some  eggs  ?  Well,  she  has  not  heard  the  price  of  eggs 
this  season,  but  will  let  us  have  some  at  fivepence  a 
dozen.  She  loads  the  pilot  with  a  basketful  of  mon- 
Btei-s,  and  we  go  on  our  way  rejoicing. 

Casting  our  eyes  up  the  hill  as  we  leave  the  cot- 
tage, we  meet  a  pair  of  steadfast  eyes  regarding  us 
over  a  knoll  a  few  yards  distant;  and  lo !  the  head 
and  antlers  of  a  noble  stac;,  a  veritable  red  deer  from 
the  peaks,  lie  has  wandered  down  to  prey  upon  the 
little  patch  of  corn,  from  which  the  widow  with  diffi- 
cnlty  drives  him  and  his  mates  many  times  in  the  day. 
A  royal  fellow  1  Conscious  of  his  immunity,  he  stares 
coolly  at  us  with  his  soft  yet  powerful  eyes.  We 
approach  nearer — ^he  does  not  move — a  pistol-shot 
would  stretch  him  low;  but  suddenly  espying  our 
retriever,  who  has  lingered  behind,  lapping  up  some 
spilt  milk,  he  tosses  his  head  disdainfully,  and  turns 
to  go.  As  Schneider,  the  dog,  runs  toward  him,  he 
breaks  into  a  trot,  then  bounds  suddenly  over  a 
boulder,  and  is  off  at  full  speed.     The  dog  pursues 


134  THE   LAND   OP   LOKNE. 

him  eap;erly,  but  tlio  fleet-footed  one  speeds  silentlj 
away,  floating  lightly  upward  to  the  heights,  and 
leaving  his  panting  pursuer  far  behind. 

But  the  eye,  following  him  upward,  rests  on  the 
peaks,  and  is  sublimed  by  a  sudden  sense  of  tho 
silences  broken  only  by  the  red  deer's  splash  in  some 
dark  tarn.  Fading  gradually  upward  from  deep 
green  to  ashen  gray,  mingling  softly  into  the  white 
little  cloud  that  poises  itself  on  the  highest  peak 
of  all,  the  mountains  lie  in  tho  crystalline  air  of 
a  hazeless  summer  day.  Every  rock  comes  out 
clear,  every  stream  shows  its  intense  white  seam 
against  the  hillside,  and  the  knolls  of  crimson 
heather  in  the  foreground  seem  visible  to  the  tini- 
est leaf. 

The  temptation  is  too  great,  and  we  arc  soon 
vigorously  facing  the  lesser  range  of  heights.  On 
all  the  knolls  around  us  the  white  caima-grass  waves 
in  the  wind,  and  the  yellow  iris  peeps  among  the 
green  twigs  of  under-grass,  and  in  the  hollows  hero, 
where  the  peat  is  cut  and  piled  for  drying,  we  stop 
and  pluck  bog-asphodel.  Higher  we  speed,  knee- 
deep  now  in  the  purple  heather — from  which  tho 
dog  scares  moor  fowl  under  our  very  feet.  The  air 
rarefies,  full,  as  it  were,  of  holier,  deeper  breath. 
The  deep  red  of  the  heather  dies  away  into  brown 
and  green,  and  yet  a  few  paces  farther,  only  green 
herbage  carpets  the  way — boulders  thicken,  the  hilL 
side  grows  still  more  steep,  till  at  last,  quite  breathlea.. 
with  exercise  and  the  sharp  fine  air,  we  get  amon^ 
the  graystone  clifife  and  the  hugely-piled  boulders  of 
the  peaks. 


THE   TERN'8   FIRST   FLIGHT.  135 

The  grout,  glorious  world  lica  around  and  beneath 
us — mountains,  crags,  and  their  shadows  in  a  violet 
sea.  Close  at  hand,  to  the  northward,  see  Canna,  with 
her  grim  shark's  teeth  of  outlying  rock  jutting  up 
here  and  there,  far  out  in  the  westward  ocean ;  and 
behind  her  tower  the  Cuchullin  Ilills  of  Skyc,  sharp- 
ening into  peak  on  peak,  blue  mists  brooding  on  their 
base,  but  all  above  snowed  over  with  livid  layers  of 
hypersthene,  and  seamed  with  the  black-forked  bed 
of  torrents  tliat  in  wild  weather  twist  down  like 
lightning  to  the  hidden  lakes  below. 

Far  down  westward  on  the  ocean  there  is  a  long 
low  line,  as  of  cloud,  on  tlie  horizon.  That  is  the 
Outer  Hebrides,  our  Ultima  Tliule.  The  low  levels 
are  veiled  by  distance,  but  the  hills  and  promon- 
tories—  now  a  dull  headland,  beyond  a  stretch 
of  highland — loom  here  and  there  through  the 
mist — 

"  The  dreamy  grief  of  tlio  gray  sea." 

With  a  feeling  distantly  akin  to  that  of  the  old 
wanderers  of  the  waters,  gazing  from  their  frail 
barks  at  the  cloud  of  unexplored  demesne,  we  eye 
our  distant  quarry.  A  far  flight  for  the  tiny  Tem^ 
on  seas  so  great  and  strange  !  Weary  with  a  long- 
reaching  gaze,  our  eye  drops  downward  on  the  western 
side  of  the  isle  whereon  we  stand.  The  low,  grassy 
:swell  of  the  Minch  breaks  in  one  thin,  creamy  line 
against  that  awful  coast — a  long  range  washed  into 
cliffs  and  precipices,  and  unbroken  by  a  single  haven 
or  peaceful  creek.  When  the  mists  and  vapors 
gather  here,  and  the  southwester  comes  pouring  in 
upon  these  shores,  and  the  sea  rises  and  roars  as  it 


136  THE   LAND   OF   LOENE. 

can  roar  only  on  rocky  coasts,  many  a  brave  ship 
goes  to  pieces  yonder.  There  is  then  no  hope  on 
tliia  side  of  time.  Kot  a  soul  is  there  to  lock  on 
from  the  land,  and  he  who  drifts  living  as  far  as  the 
Bhore  is  dashed  to  pieces  on  its  jagged  wall.  There 
is  no  pause,  no  suspense.  A  crash,  a  shriek,  and  noth- 
ing remains  but  spindrift  and  splintering  planks.    . 

After  a  long  ram'jlc,  we  regain  our  punt,  and  are 
soon  busy  hoisting  sail  on  board  the  yacht,  for  a  fresh 
breeze  has  sprung  up,  which  should  waft  us  swiftly 
on  to  Canna.  Up  goes  the  Tern's  white  wings,  and 
we  fly  buoyantly  away,  tlie  faint  scent  of  honcys^ucJde 
floating  from  the  rocks  as  we  round  the  jagged  point 
of  the  bay.  It  is  the  last  farewell  of  Loch  Scresort — 
the  last,  sweet  breath  of  a  sweet  place.  The  sun 
shines,  the  spray  sparkles,  and  with  happy  hearts  and 
backward-looking  eyes  we  speed  along  on  the  joyful, 
gentle  sea. 

The  breeze  stiffens,  blowing  on  our  quarter,  and 
the  little  Tern^  though  she  carries  a  double  reef  in 
tlie  mainsail,  has  soon  about  as  much  as  she  can  bear; 
but  cheerily  she  foams  through  it,  veritably  "  like  a 
thing  of  life,"  fearless,  eager,  quivering  through  every 
fibre  with  the  salt  fierce  play — now  dipping  with  a. 
Btealthy  motion  into  the  green  hollow  of  the  waves, 
then  rising,  shivering  on  their  crest,  and  glancing 
this  way  and  that  like  a  startled  bird ;  drifting  side- 
long for  a  moment  as  if  wounded  and  faint,  with 
the  tip  of  lier  white  wing  trailing  in  the  water,  and 
again,  at  the  wind's  whistle,  springing  up  and  on- 
ward, and  tilting  the  foam  from  her  breast  in  showers, 
of  silver  spray. 


THE  tehn's  first  flight.  137 

Though  the  breeze  is  so  keen,  there  is  neither  mist 
nor  rain.  Far  away  yonder  to  the  west,  a  slight  gray 
Btrealv  Iiovereovcr  the  clear  sea-line — and  from  thence, 
as  from  the  out-pursed  lip  of  a  god,  the  invisible  wind 
is  blown.  All  is  fresh  and  clear — the  peaks  of  Hum, 
the  far-off  mainland — all  save  the  white  Cuehullins, 
which  have  suddenly  clothed  themselves  with  their 
own  smokes  and  vapors,  through  which  they  loom  at 
intervals,  Titan-like  and  forlorn.  From  the  blank, 
stony  stare  of  hills  so  ghostly  in  their  beauty,  yet  so 
human  in  their  desolation,  one  turns  to  look  at  Kil- 
mory  Bay,  which  opens  before  us  as  we  round  the 
northern  shores  of  Rum.  It  is  a  little  space  of  shing- 
ly sand,  yellow  and  white  and  glistening,  slipped  in 
between  grim  crags  and  under  the  shadow  of  the 
mountains.  The  thin  cream  line  of  foam  stirs  not 
on  its  edge,  as  the  deep  soft  billows  roll  inward  and 
lessen  over  shallows.  Above,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
there  are  stretches  of  grassy  mead  as  green  as  any  in 
Kent,  and  cattle  grazing  thereon ;  and  still  liigher,  the 
heights  of  heather  die  away  into  hues  of  gray  moss 
and  lichen,  till  the  stony  peaks  are  penciled  grimly  on 
the  quiet  azure  of  the  sky. 

Canna  is  now  in  full  view.  The  "  castled  steep," 
as  Scott  calls  its  high  cliff,  towers  in  deep  brown 
shadow,  surrounded  by  green  heights  of  pasture,  while 
below  is  one  long  line  of  torn  crags  and  caves,  in  the 
lee  of  which,  on  a  stretch  of  nearly  calm  sea,  the  gulls 
and  guillemots  gather,  and  the  solan  goose  drops  like 
a  stone  to  its  prey.  The  breeze  now  strikes  nearly 
dead  ahead,  and  the  Tern  has  a  sore  struggle  of  it 
beating  onward.     Not  until  she  is  close  in  upon  the 


138  THE   LAND    OP    LORNE. 

jagged  cliffs  docs  the  narrow  entry  into  the  harbor 
open,  and  it  is  a  difficult  job,  indeed,  to  pick  our  way 
through  the  rocks,  in  the  teeth  of  wind  so  keen  ;  but 
directly  we  round  the  comer  of  the  cliffs,  the  little 
landlocked  bay  opens  safe  and  calm,  and,  gliding  into 
fivc-fathoni  water,  we  cast  anchor  just  oj^posite  the 
laird's  house. 


OANNA   AND    ITS    PEOPLB.  139 


CHAPTER   Vn. 

OANNA    AND    ITS    PEOPLE, 

Tlio  Laird  of  Canna— Ilia  Kingly  Power— Prosperity  of  the  State— The 
Island— The  Old  Tower— Canna  iu  Storm  and  in  Calm— The  Milking— 
Twilight — A  Poem  by  Davy  Gray— Haunts  of  the  Ocean  Birds- Whis- 
pers from  the  Sea- The  Canna  People— The  Quiet  Life— The  Graveyard 
on  the  Hillside. 

The  Laird  of  Canna  might  fitly  be  styled  it3  king  ; 
for  over  that  lonely  domain  he  exercises  quite  regal  au- 
thority, and  he  is  luckier  in  one  respect  than  most 
monarchs — he  keeps  all  the  cash.  His  subjects  nmn- 
ber  four-score — men,  women,  and  children.  Some 
till  his  land,  some  herd  his  sheep.  For  him  the  long- 
line  fishers  row  along  the  stormy  coasts  of  Rum  ,  for 
him  the  wild  boore  batter  out  the  brains  of  seals  on 
the  neighboring  rocks  of  Haskeir ;  the  flocks  on  the 
crags  are  his,  and  the  two  smacks  in  the  bay ;  every 
roof  and  tenement  for  man  or  beast  pays  him  rent  of 
some  sort.  The  solid  modern  building,  surrounded 
by  the  civilized  brick  wall,  is  his  palace — a  recent 
erection,  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  the  rude  cabins 
and  heather  houses  in  the  vicinity.  Yet  the  Laird  of 
Canna  is  not  proud.  He  toiled  hard  with  his  hands 
long  before  the  stroke  of  good  fortune  which  made 
him  the  heritor  of  the  isle,  and  even  now  he  commuixes 
freely  with  the  lowest  subject,  and  is  not  above  board- 
ins:  a  trading-vessel  in  the  bay  in  his  shirt-sleeves.     A 


140  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

Blirewd,  active,  broad-shouldered  man  is  the  laird,  still 
young,  and  as  active  as  a  goat.  Though  he  sits  late 
at  night  among  his  books,  he  is  up  with  the  grayest 
dawn  to  look  after  his  fields.  You  meet  him  every- 
where over  tlie  island,  mounted  royally  on  his  sturdy 
little  sheltie,  and  gazing  around  him  with  a  face  which 
says  plainly, 

"  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey  ; 
My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute." 

But  at  times  he  sails  far  away  southward,  in  his  own 
boats,  speculating  with  the  shrewdest,  and  surely 
keeping  his  own.  In  the  midst  of  his  happy  sway  he 
has  a  fine  smile  and  a  kindly  heart  for  the  stranger, 
as  we  can  testify.  The  great  can  afford  to  be  gener- 
ous, though,  of  course,  if  greatness  were  to  be  meas- 
ured by  mere  amount  of  income,  the  laird,  though  a 
"  warm  "  man,  would  have  to  be  ranked  among  the 
lowly.  He  has  in  abundance  what  all  the  Stuarts 
tried  in  vain  to  feel — the  perfect  sense  of  solitary 
sway. 

Think  of  it — dreamer,  power-hunter,  piner  after 
the  Napoleonic !  A  fertile  island,  a  simple  people, 
sliips  and  flocks  all  j^our  own,  and  all  set  solitary  and 
inviolate  in  the  great  sea  ;  for  how  much  less  have 
throats  been  cut,  hearths  desolated,  even  nations 
ruined  1  There  is  no  show,  no  bunkum,  no  flash- 
jewelry  of  power,  but  veritable  power  itself.  In  old 
days,  there  would  have  been  the  gleaming  of  tartans, 
the  flashing  of  swords,  the  sound  of  wassail,  the  inton- 
ing of  the  skald  ,  but  now,  instead,  we  have  the  genu- 
ine modem  article — a  monarch  of  a  speculative  turn, 
transacting  business  in  his  shirt-sleeves.     The  realm 


CANNA    AND    ITS   PEOPLE.  Ml 

flourishes,  too.  Each  cotter  or  slieplierd  pays  his  rent 
in  hibor,  and  is  permitted  a  plot  of  ground  to  giow 
potatoes  and  graze  a  cow.  The  fishermen  are  sup- 
ported in  the  same  way.  Both  sexes  toil  out  of  doora 
at  the  crops,  and  take  part  in  the  shearing,  but  the 
women  have  plenty  of  time  to  watch  the  cow  and 
weave  homespun  on  their  rude  looms.  All  on  tho 
isle,  excepting  only  the  laird  himself,  belong  to  tho  old 
Komish  faith,  even  the  laird's  own  wife  and  children 
beinii;  Catholics.  There  is  no  bickering;,  civil  or  relicr- 
ious.  The  supreme  head  of  the  state  is  universally 
popular,  and  })raised  for  his  thoughtfulness  and  gene- 
rosity— a  cingle  example  of  which  is  as  good  as  a  hun- 
dred. It  is  said  to  be  the  custom  of  many  Highland 
proprietors,  notably  those  ()f  Islay,  to  levy  a  rent  on 
those  who  burn  tho  seaweeds  and  tansiles  on  their 
shore,  charging  the  poor  makers  about  a  pound  on 
every  ton  of  kelp  so  produced.  Not  so  the  Laird  of 
Canna.  "  lie  charges  nothing,"  said  our  informant,  a 
wild  old  Irish  wanderer,  whom  we  found  kelp-burning 
close  to  our  anchorage ;  ''  the  laird  is  too  dacent  a  man 
to  take  Tint  for  tlie  rocks .'" 

One  might  wander  far,  like  those  princes  of  Eastern 
fable  who  went  that  weary  quest  in  search  of  king- 
doms, and  fare  far  worse  than  here.  Though  en- 
vironed on  every  side  by  roclcs  and  crags,  and  ringed 
by  the  watery  waste,  Ganna  is  fat  and  fertile,  fall  of 
excellent  sheep-pastures  and  patches  of  fine,  arable 
ground.  Its  lower  slopes,  in  times  remote,  were  en- 
,  riched  by  the  salt  sea-loam,  and  its  highest  peaks  have 
been  manured  for  ages  by  innumerable  sea-fowl. 
Huge  sheep  of  the  Cheviot  breed  cover  all  the  slopes, 


142  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

finding  their  way  to  the  most  inaccessible  crags;  long 
trains  of  milch-cows  wind  from  tlie  hills  to  the  outside 
of  the  laird's  dairy,  morning  and  gloaming;  and  in 
the  low,  rich  under-stretchcs  of  valley  are  little  patches 
of  excellent  corn,  where  the  loud  "  creek-creek  "  of  the 
corn-crake  sounds  harshly  sweet.  So  much  for  the 
material  blessings  of  the  island.  Now,  let  us  note 
those  other  blessings  which  touch  the  eye  and  soul. 

It  is  a  fish-shaped  island,  about  five  miles  long  and 
a  mile  and  a  half  broad,  throwing  out,  by  a  small  isth- 
mus on  the  western  side,  a  low  peninsula  of  grassy 
green.  The  main  island  forms  a  ridge,  the  cliffs  of 
which  rise  on  the  northern  side  to  about  one  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  descend  on  the 
southern  side  to  the  shore,  by  a  succession  of  terraces 
of  dazzling  greenness,  supported  on  magnificent  col- 
umns of  basalt.  In  the  space  between  the  peninsula 
(which,  being  separated  from  the  mainland  at  high 
water,  is  sometimes  called  Sandy  Island)  and  the 
southeastern  point  of  the  mainland,  lies  the  harbor,^ 
and  across  the  isthmus  to  the  west  lies  another  greater 
bay,  so  sown  with  grim  little  islands  and  sunken  rocks 
as  to  be  totally  useless  to  navigators  in  any  weather. 
The  peninsula  is  somewhat  low,  but  the  crags  of  the. 
main  island  tower  to  an  immense  height  above  the 
level  of  the  sea. 

In  a  tiny  bay  opening  to  the  east,  towel's  the  lofty 
rock  whereon  was  situated  the  old  tower,  a  few  frag- 
ments of  which  are  to  be  seen  by  any  one  making 
the  difficult  ascent.  Here  it  was  that  a  Lord  of  the 
Isles  confined  one  of  his  mistresses  —  a   story   still 


CANNA   AND    ITS   PEOPLE.  143 

current  in  the  island,  and  familiar  to  strangers  from 
Scott'tj  lines : 

"  Signal  of  Ronald's  liigli  command. 
A  beacon  gleamed  o'er  sea  and  land, 
From  Canna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 
Like  falconnest  o'erhanga  the  bay. 
Seek  not  the  giddy  crag  to  climb. 
To  view  the  turret  scathed  by  time  ; 
It  is  a  task  of  doubt  and  fear 
To  aught  but  goat  or  mountain  deer. 
But  rest  thee  on  the  silver  beach, 
And  let  the  aged  herdsman  teach 

His  tale  of  former  day  ; 
His  cur's  wild  clamor  he  shall  chide. 
And  for  thy  seat  by  ocean's  side 

His  varied  plaid  display  ; 
Then  tell,  how  with  their  chieftain  came. 
In  ancient  times,  a  foreign  dame 

To  yonder  turret  gray. 
Stem  was  her  lord's  suspicious  mind. 
Who  in  so  rude  a  jail  confmcd 

So  soft  and  fair  a  thrall ! 
And  oft,  when  moon  on  ocean  slept. 
That  lovely  lady  sate  and  wept 

Upon  the  castle-wall. 
And  turned  her  eye  to  southern  climes. 
And  thought,  perchance,  of  happier  times. 
And  touched  hor  lute  by  fits,  and  sung 
Wild  ditties  in  her  native  tongue. 
And  still,  when  on  the  cliff  and  bay 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeams  play, 

And  every  breeze  is  mute, 
On  the  lone  Hebridean's  ear 
Steals  a  strange  pleasure,  mixed  with  fear. 
While  from  that  cliff  he  seems  to  hear 

The  murmur  of  a  lute. 
And  sounds,  aa  of  a  captive  lone 


144  THE   LAND   OP   LORNE. 

That  mourns  her  woes  in  tongue  unknown. 
Strange  is  the  tale — but  all  too  long 
Already  hath  it  staid  the  song — 

Yet  who  may  pass  them  by, 
That  crag  and  tower  in  ruins  gray. 
Nor  to  their  hapless  tenant  pay 

The  tribute  of  a  sigh?" 

There  is  scarcely  an  old  ruin  in  the  north  but  is 
haunted  by  some  spirit  such  as  this — and  there  is  a 
ruin  on  every  headland. 

Canna  is  the  child  of  the  great  waters,  and  such 
children,  lonely  and  terrible  as  is  their  portion,  seldom 
lack  loveliness — often  their  only  dower.  From  the 
edge  of  the  lapping  water  to  the  peak  of  the  highest 
crag,  it  is  clothed  with  ocean  gifts  and  signs  of  power. 
Its  strange  under-caves  and  rocks  are  colored  with 
rainbow  hues,  drawn  from  glorious-featured  weeds; 
overhead,  its  cliffs  of  basalt  rise  shadowy,  ledge  after 
ledge  darkened  by  innumerable  little  wings ;  and 
high  over  all  grow  soft  greenswards,  knolls  of  thyme 
and  heather,  where  sheep  bleat  and  whence  the  herd- 
boy  crawls  over  to  look  into  the  raven's  nest.  On  a 
still  summer  day,  when  the  long  Atlantic  swell  is 
crystal  smooth,  Canna  looks  supremely  gentle  on  her 
image  in  the  tide,  and  out  of  her  hollow  under  caves 
comes  tlie  low,  weird  whisper  of  a  voice  ;  the  sunlight 
glimmers  on  peaks  and  sea,  the  beautiful  shadow 
quivers  below,  broken  here  and  there  by  dri.ting 
weeds,  and  the  bleating  sheep  on  the  high  swards 
soften  the  stillness.  But  when  the  winds  come  in  over 
the  deep,  the  beauty  changes — it  darkens,  it  flashes 
from  softness  into  power.  The  huge  waters  boil  at 
the  foot  of  the  crags,  and  the  peaks  are  caught  in 


CANNA   AND    ITS    PEOPLE.  145 

mist ;  and  the  air,  full  of  a  great  roar,  gathers  around 
Canna's  troubled  face.  Climb  the  crags,  and  the 
horrid  rocks  to  westward,  jutting  out  here  and  there 
like  sharks'  teeth,  spit  the  lurid  white  foam  back  in 
the  glistening  eyes  of  the  sea.  Slip  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  amid  the  deafening  roar  the  spray 
rises  fa  above  you  in  a  hissing  shower.  The  whole 
island  seems  quivering  through  and  through.  The 
waters  gatlier  on  all  sides,  with  only  one  long,  glassy 
gleam  to  leeward.  No  place  in  the  world  could  seem 
fuller  of  supernatural  voices,  more  powerful,  or  more 
utterly  alone. 

It  is  our  fortune  to  see  the  island  in  all  its  moods ; 
for  we  are  in  no  haste  to  depart.  Days  of  deep  calm 
alternate  with  days  of  the  wildest  storm.  There  is 
constant  change. 

Everywhere  in  the  interior  of  the  island  there  are 
sweet  pastoral  glimpses.  On  a  summer  afternoon, 
while  we  are  wandering  in  the  road  near  the  shore,  wo 
see  the  cattle  beginning  to  flock  from  the  pastures, 
headed  by  two  gentle  bulls,  and  gathering  round  the 
dairy  house,  where,  in  "short-gowns,"  white  as  snow, 
the  two  head  dairymaids  sit  on  their  stools.  Tlie  kine 
low  softly,  as  the  milk  is  drawn  from  the  swelling 
udder,  and  now  and  then  a  calf,  desperate  with  thirst, 
makes  a  plunge  at  his  mother  and  drinks  eagerly  with 
closed  eyes  till  he  is  driven  away.  Men  and  children 
gather  around,  looking  on  idly.  As  we  pass  by,  the 
dairymaid  offers  us  a  royal  drink  of  fresh,  warm  milk, 
and  with  that  taste  in  our  lips  we  loiter  aw^ay.  Now 
we  are  among  fields,  and  we  might  be  in  England — 
so  sweet  is  the  scent  of  hay.  Yonder  the  calm  sea 
7 


146  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

glimmers,  and  one  by  one  the  stars  are  opening  like 
forget-me-nots,  with  dewdrops  of  light  for  reflections 
in  the  water  below.  Can  this  be  Canna  ?  Can  this  be 
the  solitary  child  of  the  ocean?  Hark  !  That  is  the 
corn-crake,  crying  in  the  com — the  sound  we  have 
heard  so  often  in  the  southern  fields !  As  we  listen, 
our  eyes  are  dim  indeed,  for  we  are  murmuring  the 
tender  rhyme  of  the  poet  of  Merkland — lines  never 
yet  published  till  now,  but  treasured  up  by  us  as 
Bomething  passionately  sweet.  It  seema  his  very 
voice  we  hear,  murmuring  them  in  the  twilight. 

THE  CORN-CRAKE. 
I've  listened  now  a  full  half-hour, 
Nor   knew  that  voice   possessed  the  power 
Of  Lethe's  fabled  wave  to  bless 
My  spirit  with  forgetful ness. 

The  night  is  calm  as  my  desire. 

I  see  the  stars,  yet  scarcely  see. 

So  sweetly  melteth  all  their  fire 

Into  the  blue  serenity. 

The  mountains  mingle  with  the  haze. 

And  the  three  glorious  sycamores 

That  stand  before  three  cottage  doors, 

And  throw  warm  sliadows  on  the  floors 

On  beautiful  sunshiny  days. 

Come  out  in  firmer,  blacker  lines, 

Where  softly  bright  a  crescent  shines. 

A  famous  crescent  is  it  still 

Which  seems  to  love  this  Merkland  11111 

As  well  as  ever  Helicon, 

And  shines  with  as  intent  a  will 

On  Luggie,  as  it  ever  shone 

On  Castaly  in  days  of  yore. 

When  poesy  was  deepest  lore 

And  love  the  customary  glee  ; 

A  land — a  land  of  Arcady. 


CANNA    AND    ITS   PEOPLE.  1  U 

But  whether  in  that  land  of  dreams, 

When  sun  had  Bct  and  many  streams 

Were  mingling  in  one  miirnmrous  moan, 

Through  alder  coverts  flowing  on. 

Thy  voice,  dear  Corn-crake  !  sounded  through 

The  calmness,  when  the  dear  cuckoo 

Had  fallen  asleep  in  shady  glen, 

Far  from  the  paths  of  mortal  men, 

I  cannot  tell  ;  yet  I  uphold 

That  never  a  more  vernal  cry, 

From  lawn  or  air,  or  hedge  or  wckkI, 

Filled  all  the  eager,  hungry  sky, 

Or  charmed  a  sylvan  solitude. 

O  Corn-crake  I  will  you  never  weary  ? 
You  cry  as  if  it  were  thy  duty. 
And  thy  voice  were  all  thy  beauty. 
Do  you  cry  that  I  may  hear  thee  ? 
Not  a  bird  awake  but  thee. 
Except,  across  the  dim,  dim  sea. 
The  voluptuous  nightingale, 
Singing  in  an  orange  dale 

Ey  a  word,  by  a  tone,  we  are  carried  into  a  dream ; 
the  nightingale  sings,  and  the  Scottish  poem  dies 
away  among  all  the  perfumes  of  the  south  ! 

"When  there  is  little  or  no  sea,  it  is  delightful  to  pull 
in  the  punt  round  the  precipitous  sliores,  and  come 
upon  the  lonely  haunts  of  the  ocean-birds.  There  is 
one  great  cliif,  with  a  huge  rock  rising  out  of  the 
watere  before  it,  which  is  the  favorite  breeding 
haunt  of  the  puffins,  and  while  swarms  of  these  little 
creatures,  with  their  bright,  parrot-like  bills  and  plump, 
white  breasts,  flit  thick  as  locusts  in  the  air,  legions 
darken  the  waters  underneath,  and  rows  on  rows  sit 
brooding  over  their  young  on  the  dizziest  edges  of  the 


i 


148  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

cliff  itself.     The  noise  of  wings  is  ceaseless,  there  is 
constant  coming  and  going,  and  so  tame  are  the  birds 
that  one  might  almost  seize  them,  either  on  the  water 
or  in  the  air,  with  the  outstretched  hand.     Discharge 
a  gun  into  the  air,  and,  as  the  liollow  echoes  roar  up- 
ward and  inward  to  the  very  hearts  of  the  caves,  it 
will  suddenly  seem  as  if  the  tremendous  crags  were 
loosening  to  fall ;  but  the  dull,  dangerous  sound  you 
hear  is  only  the  rush  of  wings.     A  roclc  farther  north- 
ward is  possessed  entirely  by  gulls,  chiefly  the  smaller 
sj^ecies  ;  thousands  sit  still  and  fearless,  whitening  the 
summit  like  snow,  but  many  hover  with  discordant 
scream  over  the  passing  boat,  and  seem  trying  with 
the  wild  beat  of  their  wings  to  scare  the  intruders 
away.     Close  in  shore,  at  tlie  mouth  of  a  deep,  dark 
cave,  cormorants  are  to  be  found,  great  black  "  scarts," 
their  mates,  and  the  young,  preening  their  glistening 
j)lumage  leisurely,  or  stretching  out  their  snake-like 
necks    to   peer  with   fishy  eyes   this    way  and   that. 
They  are  not  very  tame  here,  and  should  you  present 
a  gun,  will  soon  flounder  into  the  sea  and  disappear; 
but  at  times,  when  they  have  gorged  themselves  with 
fish,  so  awkward  are  they  with  their  wings,  and  so 
muddled    are    their  wits,  that   one   might   run   right 
abreast  of  them  and  knock  them  over  with  an  oar. 

Everywhere  below,  above,  on  all  sides,  there  is  noth- 
ing but  life — birds  innumerable,  brooding  over  their 
eggs,  or  fishing  for  the  young.  Hero  and  there  a  lit- 
tle fluff  of  down,  just  launched  out  into  the  great 
world,  paddles  about,  bewildered,  and  dives  away 
from  the  boat's  bow  with  a  faint,  troubled  cry.  On 
the  outer  rocks  gulls  and  guillemots,  puffins  on  the 


CANNA    AND   ITS    PEOPLE.  149 

cratrs,  and  comiorants  on  tlic  ledt2;es  of  the  caves. 
The  poor  reflective  hnnian  beinc:,  brought  into  the 
sound  of  such  a  life,  gets  quite  scared  and  dazed.  Tlic 
air,  the  rocks,  the  waters,  arc  all  astir.  The  face 
turns  for  relief  upward,  where  the  blue  sky  meets  the 
Bumrait  of  the  crags.  Even  yonder,  on  the  very  ledge, 
a  black  speck  sits  and  croaks ;  and  still  further  up- 
ward, dwarfed  by  distance  to  the  size  of  a  sparrow- 
hawk,  hovers  a  black  eagle,  fronting  the  sun. 

There  is  something  awe-inspiring,  on  a  dead  calm, 
day,  in  the  low,  hushed  wasli  of  the  great  swell  that 
forever  sets  in  from  the  ocean  ;  slow,  slow  it  comes, 
with  the  'regular  beat  of  a  pulse,  rising  its  height, 
without  breaking,  against  the  cliff  it  mirrors  in  its 
polished  breast,  and  then  dying  down  beneath  with  a 
murmuring  moan.  What  power  is  there  !  what  dread- 
ful, fatal  ebbing  and  flowing !  No  finger  can  stop 
that  under-swell,  no  breath  can  come  between  that 
and  its  course ;  it  has  rolled  since  Time  began — the 
same,  neither  more  nor  less,  whether  the  weather  be 
still  or  wild — and  it  will  keep  on  when  we  are  all  dead. 
Bah!  that  is  hypochondria.  But  look!  what  is  that 
floating  yonder,  on  the  glassy  water  ? 

"  Oil !  is  it  fish,  or  weed,  or  floating  hair, 
0'  drowned  maiden  fair?" 

No ;  but  it  tells  as  clear  a  tale.  Those  planks  formed 
lately  the  sides  of  a  ship,  and  on  that  old  mattress, 
with  the  straw  washing  out  of  the  rents,  some  weary 
sailor  pillowed  his  head  not  many  hours  ago.  "Where 
is  the  ship  now?  AVhere  is  the  sailor?  Oh  !  if  a 
magician's  wand  could  strike  these  waters,  and  open 


1">^^  THE   LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

them  up  to  our  view,  what  a  sight  should  we  see — 
the  slimy  hulls  of  ships  long  submerged;  the  just 
sunken  fisli-boat,  with  ghastly  faces  twisted  among 
tlie  nets ;  the  skeleton  suspended  in  the  huge  under- 
grass  and  monstrous  weeds;  the  black  shapes,  the 
flesliless  faces,  looming  green  in  the  dripping  foam 
and  watery  dew !  Yet  how  gently  the  swell  comes 
rolling,  and  how  pleasant  look  the  depths  this  sum- 
mer day — as  if  Death  were  not,  as  if  there  could  be 
neither  storm  nor  wreck  at  sea  ! 

More  hypochondria,  perhaps.  Why  the  calm  sea 
should  invariably  make  us  melancholy  we  cannot  tell, 
but  it  does  so,  in  spite  of  all  our  efforts  to  be  gay. 
Walt  Whitman  used  to  sport  in  the  great  waters  as 
happily  as  a  porpoise  or  a  seal,  without  any  dread, 
with  vigorous  animal  delight;  and  we,  too,  can  enjoy 
a  glorious  swim  in  the  sun,  if  there  is  just  a  little 
wind,  and  the  sea  sparkles  and  freshens  full  of  life. 
But  to  swim  in  a  dead  calm  is  dreadful  to  a  sensitive 
man.  Something  mesmeric  grips  and  weakens  him. 
If  the  water  be  deep,  he  feels  dizzy,  as  if  he  were  sus- 
pended far  up  in  the  air. 

We  are  harping  on  delicate  mental  chords,  and  for- 
getting Canna ;  yet  we  have  been  musing  in  such  a 
mood  as  Canna  must  inevitably  awaken  in  all  who 
feel  the  world.  She  is  so  lonelv,  so  beautiful :  and 
the  seas  around  her  are  so  full  of  sounds  and  sights 
that  seize  the  soul.  There  is  nothing  mean,  or  squalid, 
or  miserable  about  Canna;  but  she  is  melancholy 
and  subdued — she  seems  like  a  Scandinavian  Ilavfru, 
to  sit  with  her  hand  to  her  ear,  earnestly  listening  to 
the  sea. 


CANNA   AND    ITS   PEOPLE.  1-'>1 

Tliat,  too,  is  what  first  strikes  one  in  tlio  Canna 
people — their  melancholy  look ;  not  grief-worn,  not 
sorrowful,  not  passionate,  but  simply  melancholy  and 
subdued.  We  cannot  believe  they  are  unhappy  be- 
yond the  lot  of  other  people  who  live  by  lal)or,  and  it 
is  quite  certain  that,  in  worldly  circumstances,  they 
are  much  more  comfortable,  than  the  Highland  poor 
are  generally.  Nature,  however,  with  her  wondrous 
secret  influences,  has  subdued  their  lives,  toned  their 
thoughts,  to  the  spirit  of  the  island  where  they  dwell. 
This  18  more  particularly  the  case  with  the  women. 
Poor  human  souls,  with  that  dark,  searching  look  in 
the  eyes,  those  feeble  flutterings  of  the  lips !  They 
speak  sad  and  low,  as  if  somebody  were  sleeping  close 
by.  When  they  step  forward  and  ask  you  to  walk 
into  the  dwelling,  you  think  (being  new  to  their 
ways)  that  some  one  has  just  died.  All  at  once, 
and  inevitably,  you  hear  the  leaden  wash  of  the  sea, 
and  you  seem  to  be  walking  on  a  grave. 

"  A  ghostly  people !  '  exclaims  the  reader  ;  "  Keep 
me  from  Canna !  "  That  is  an  error.  The  people  do 
seem  ghostly  at  first,  their  looks  do  sadden  and  de- 
press ;  but  the  feeling  soon  wears  away,  when  you 
find  how  much  quiet  happiness,  how  much  warmth 
of  heart,  may  underlie  the  melancholy  air.  When 
they  know  you  a  little,  ever  so  little,  they  brighten, 
not  into  anything  demonstrative,  not  into  sunniness, 
but  into  a  silvern  kind  of  beauty,  wliich  we  can  only 
compare  to  moonlight.  A  veil  is  quietly  lifted,  and 
you  see  the  soul's  face ;  and  then  you  know  that 
these  folk  are  melancholy,  not  for  sorrow's  sake,  but 
just  as  moonlight  is  melancholy,  just  as  the  wash  of 


152  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

water  is  melancholy,  because  tliat  is  the  natural  ex- 
pression of  their  lives.  They  are  capable  of  a  still, 
heart-suffering  tenderness,  very  touching  to  behold. 
We  visit  many  of  their  houses,  and  hold  many  of 
their  hands.  Kindly,  gentle,  open-handed  as  melting 
charity,  we  find  them  all ;  the  poorest  of  them  as  hos- 
pitable as  the  proudest  chieftain  of  their  race.  There 
is  a  gift  everywhere  for  the  stranger,  and  a  blessing 
to  follow — for  they  know  that  after  all  he  is  bound 
for  the  same  bourne. 

Theirs  is  a  quiet  life,  a  still  passage  from  birth  to 
the  grave;  still,  untroubled,  save  for  the  never-silent 
voices  of  the  waves.  The  women  work  very  hard, 
both  indoors  and  afield.  Some  of  the  men  go  away 
herring-fishing  in  the  season,  but  the  majority  find 
employment  either  on  the  island  or  the  circumjacent 
waters.  We  cannot  credit  the  men  with  great  energy 
of  character;  they  do  not  seem  industrious.  An  act- 
ive man  could  not  lounge  as  they  lounge,  with  that 
total  abandonment  of  every  nerve  and  muscle.  They 
will  lie  in  little  groups  for  hours,  looking  at  the  sea, 
and  biting  stalks  of  grass — not  seeming  to  talk,  save 
when  one  makes  a  kind  of  grunting  observation,  and 
stretches  out  his  limbs  a  little  farther.  Some  one 
comes  and  says  :  "  There  are  plenty  of  herring  over  in 
Loch  Scavaig — a  Skye  boat  got  a  great  haul  last 
night."  Perhaps  the  loungers  go  off  to  try  their 
luck,  but  very  likely  they  say:  "  AVait  till  to-morrow 
— it  may  be  all  untrue;"  and  in  all  probability,  be- 
fore they  get  over  to  the  fishing-ground,  the  herrings 
have  disappeared. 

Yet  they  can  work,  too,  and  with  a  will,  when  they 


CANNA   AND    ITH    PEOPI.E.  153 

are  ftxirly  set  on  to  work.  They  can't  speculate,  tliey 
can't  searclv  for  profit ;  the  shrewd  man  outwits  tlieni 
at  every  turn.  Tlicy  keep  poor — but,  keeping  poor, 
tlicy  keep  good.  Their  worst  fault  is  their  dreami- 
ness; but  surely  as  there  is  light  in  heaven,  if  there 
be  blame  here,  God  is  to  blame  here,  who  gave  them 
dreamy  souls  !  For  our  part,  keep  us  from  the  man 
who  could  be  born  in  Oanna,  live  on  and  on  with  that 
ocean-murmur  around  him,  and  elude  dreaminess  and 
a  melancholy  like  theirs  ! 

"  Ball !  "  cries  a  good  soul  from  a  city  ;  "  they  are 
lazy — like  the  Irish,  like  Jamaca  niggers ;  they  are 
behind  the  age  ;  let  them  die  !  "  You  are  quite  right, 
my  good  soul ;  and  if  it  will  be  any  comfort  to  you  to 
hear  it,  they,  and  such  as  they,  are  dying  fast.  They 
can't  keep  up  with  you  ;  you  are  too  clever,  too  great. 
You,  we  have  no  doubt,  could  live  at  Canna,  and  es- 
tablish a  manufactory  there  for  getting  the  sea  turned 
into  salt  for  export.  You  wouldn't  dream — not  you  I 
Ere  long  these  poor  Highlanders  will  die  out,  and 
with  them  may  die  out  gentleness,  hospitality,  charity, 
and  a  few  other  lazy  habits  of  the  race. 

In  a  pensive  mood,  witli  a  prayer  on  our  lips  for 
the  future  of  a  noble  race  destined  to  perish  locally, 
we  wander  across  the  island  till  we  come  to  the  little 
graveyard  wliere  the  people  of  Canna  go  to  sleep.  It 
is  a  desolate  spot,  commanding  a  distant  view  of  the 
Western  Ocean.  A  rude  stone  wall,  with  a  clumsy 
gate,  surrounds  a  small  square,  bo  wild,  so  like  the 
stone-covered  hill-side  all  round,  that  we  should  not 
guess  its  use  without  being  guided  by  the  fine  stone 
mausoleum  in  the  midst.     That  is  the  last   home   of 


15-i  THE    LAND    OF    LOUNE. 

the  Lairds  of  Canna  and  their  kin ;  it  is  quite  modern 
and  respectable.  Around,  covered  knee-deep  with 
grass,  are  the  graves  of  the  islandere,  with  no  other 
memorial-stones  than  simple  pieces  of  rock,  large 
and  small,  brought  from  the  seashore  and  placed  aA 
foot-stones  and  head-stones.  Rugged  as  water  tossing 
in  the  wind  is  the  old  kirkyard,  and  the  graves  of  the 
dead  therein  are  as  the  waves  of  the  sea. 

In  a  place  apart  lies  the  wooden  bier,  with  hand- 
spokes,  on  which  thej  carry  the  cold  men  and  womea 
hither ;  and  bj  its  side — a  sight,  indeed,  to  dim  the 
eyes — is  another  smaller  bier,  smaller  and  lighter,  used 
for  little  children.  Well,  there  is  not  such  a  long 
way  between  parents  and  offspring;  the  old  here  are 
cliildren  too,  silly  in  worldly  mutters,  loving,  sensitive, 
credulous  of  strange  tales.  They  are  coming  hither, 
faster  and  faster  ;  bier  after  bier,  shadow  after  shadow. 
It  is  the  tradesman's  day  now,  the  day  of  progress,  the 
day  of  civilization,  the  day  of  shops ;  but  high  as  may 
be  your  respect  for  the  commercial  glory  of  the  nation, 
stand  for  a  moment  in  imagination  among  these  graves, 
listen  to  one  tale  out  of  many  that  might  be  told  of 
those  who  sleep  below,  and  join  me  in  a  prayer  for 
the  poor  islandei-s  whom  tliey  are  carrying,  here  and 
in  a  thousand  other  kirkyards,  to  the  rest  that  is  with- 
out knowledge  and  the  sleep  that  is  without  dream. 


EIUADH   OP   CANNA.  158 


CHAPTER  ym. 

KIBADn     OF     CANNA. 

"  She  was  a  woman  of  a  steadfast  miud, 
Tender  and  deep  in  her  excesa  of  lovo ; 
Not  speaking  much,  pleased  ratlier  with  the  joy 
Of  her  own  thoughts." 

Wordsworth's  "  ExcTmaiON." 

There  was  a  man  named  Ian  Macraonail,  who  lived 
at  Canna  in  the  sea.  In  the  days  of  his  prosperity 
God  sent  him  issue — five  lads  and  a  lass.  Now  Ian 
had  great  joy  in  his  five  sons,  for  thej  grew  up  to  be 
fine  young  men,  straight-limbed,  clean-skinned,  clever 
with  their  hands  ;  and  in  the  girl  he  had  not  joy,  but 
pain,  for  she  was  a  sickly  child  and  walked  lame, 
through  a  trouble  in  the  spine.  Her  name  waa 
Eiradh,  and  she  was  born  to  many  thoughts. 

AVhen  she  was  born  she  cried  ;  nor  did  she  cease 
crying  after  long  days  ;  and  folk  seeing  that  she  waa 
so  sickly  a  child,  thought  that  she  would  die  soon. 
Yet  Eiradh  did  not  die,  but  cried  on,  so  that  tho 
house  was  never  quiet,  and  the  neighbors,  when  they 
heard  the  sound  in  the  night,  said,  "  That  is  Ian  Mac- 
raonail's  bairn  ;  the  Lord  has  not  yet  taken  her  away." 
When  she  was  three  years  old  she  lay  in  the  cradle 
still,  and  could  not  run  upon  her  feet ;  and  then  foul 
sores  came  out  upon  her  head.  After  they  burst,  she 
had  sound  sleeps,  and  her  trouble  passed  away. 


156  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

The  mother's  heart  was  glad  to  sec  the  little  one 
grow  stiller  and  brighter  every  day,  and  try  to  prattle 
like  other  children  at  the  hearth  ;  and  she  nursed  her 
little  care,  slowly  teaching  her  to  move  upon  her  feet. 
Afterward  they  taught  her  how  to  use  a  little  crutch,^ 
of  wood,  which  Ian  himself  cut  in  the  long  wintei 
nights  when  he  was  at  home. 

Ian  Macraonail  was  a  just  man,  and  his  house  was 
a  well-doing  house  ;  but  Eiradh  saw  little  of  her  fa- 
ther's face.  In  the  summer  season,  he  was  far  away, 
chasing  the  herring  on  the  great  sea,  and  even  on  the 
stormy  winter  days  he  was  fishing  cod  and  ling  with 
a  mate  on  the  shores  of  Skye  and  Mull.  When  he 
came  home  he  was  wet  and  slee]iy,  and  all  the  children 
had  to  keep  very  still.  Then  Eiradh  would  sit  in  a 
corner  of  the  hearth,  and  see  his  dark  fa^e  in  the  pcat- 
snioke.  If  he  took  her  upon  his  knee,  she  felt  afraid 
and  cried ;  so  that  the  father  said,  "  The  child  is  stupid ; 
take  her  away."  But  when  he  took  her  young  brother 
upon  his  knee,  the  boy  laughed  and  played  with  his 
beard. 

For  all  that,  the  mother  held  Eiradh  dear  above  all 
her  other  children,  because  she  was  sickly  and  had 
given  her  so  much  care. 

Ian  had  built  the  house  with  his  own  hands,  and  it 
looked  right  out  upon  the  sea.  All  the  day  and  night 
the  water  cried  at  the  door.  Sometimes  it  was  low 
and  still  and  glistening ;  and  it  was  pleasant  then  to 
sit  out  on  the  sand  and  throw  stones  into  the  smooth 
and  glassy  tide.  But  oftenest  it  was  wild  and  loud, 
shrieking  out  as  if  it  were  living,  dashing  in  the  sea- 
weed and  plariks  of  ships,  and  seeming  to  say,  "  Come 


EIRADll    OF    CANNA.  157 

out  here,  come  out  here,  thut  I  may  cat  you  up  alive  !" 
All  the  night  long  he  cried  on,  while  the  wind  tore  at 
the  roof  of  the  house,  and  would  have  carried  it  far 
away,  if  the  straw  ropes  and  heavy  stones  had  not  been 
there  to  hold  it  down. 

Then  Eiradh  would  hide  her  head  under  the  blankets 
and  think  of  her  father  upon  the  sea. 

The  water  cried  at  the  door.  When  Eiradh's  eldest 
brother  grew  up  into  a  strong  youth,  he  went  away 
with  his  father  upon  the  sea.  lie  stayed  away  so  long 
that  his  face  grew  strange.  When  he  came  home  he 
was  sleepy  and  tired,  like  his  father,  and  said  little  to 
his  sister  and  brothers.  But  one  day  he  brought 
Eiradh  home  a  little  round-eyed  owl,  like  a  little  old 
woman  in  a  tufted  wig.  Eiradh  was  proud  that  day. 
AVhen  the  calliach  opened  its  mouth  and  roared  for 
food,  she  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands ;  and  she 
made  the  bird  a  nest  in  an  old  basket,  and  fed  it  with 
lier  own  hands.  She  loved  her  great  brother  very 
much  after  that,  and  was  happy  when  he  came  home. 

The  water  cried  at  the  door.  One  day  Eiradh's 
second  brother  joined  his  father  and  brother  upon  the 
sea,  and  ever  after  that  was  sleepy  and  tired  like  the 
others  when  he  came  home. 

The  mother  said  to  Eiradh,  "  That  is  always  the 
way — boys  must  work  for  their  bread."  But  Eiradh 
thought  to  herself,  "  It  is  the  sea  calling  them  away. 
I  shall  soon  not  have  a  brother  left  in  the  house." 

The  water  cried  at  the  door,  till  all  Eiradh's  five 
brothers  went  away.  Then  it  was  very  lonely  in  the 
dwelling,  and  the  days  and  nights  were  long  and  dull. 
When   the  fishers  came  home,  their  faces   were   all 


158 


THE    LAND    Ol'    LOllNE 


Strange  to  her,  and  thej  SGetned  great,  rougli  men, 
wliilo  she  was  only  a  little  sicklj  child.  But  thej 
were  kind.  Thej  told  her  wild  stories  about  the  sea 
and  the  people  thej  had  seen,  and  laughed  out  loud 
and  merrj  at  the  wonder  in  her  great,  staring  cjes. 
Thej  told  her  of  the  great  whales  and  the  sea-snakes 
that  have  manes  like  a  horse  and  teeth  like  a  saw ; 
and  how  the  old  witch  of  Barra  smoked  her  pipe  over 
her  pot  p.nd  sold  the  fishermen  winds. 

One  night,  when  Eiradh  was  twelve  years  of  age, 
she  sat  with  her  mother  over  the  fire,  waiting  for  her 
father  and  brothers  to  come  home  in  the  skiff  from 
Mull,     It  was  a  rainy  night,  late  in  the  year.     Now, 
the  mother  had  been  ailing  for  many  days  with  a 
heaviness  and  ])ain  about  the  heart,  and  she  said  to 
Biradh:  "I  feel  sick,  and  I  will  lie  down  upon  the 
bed  to  rest  a  little."     Eiradh  kept  very  still,  that  her 
mother  might  sleep,  and  the  pot,  with  the  supper  in 
it,  bubbled ;  the  rain  went  splash-splash  at  the  door, 
till  Eiradh  fell  to  sleep  herself.     She  woke  up  with  a 
loud  cry,  and,  looking  round  her,  saw  her  father  and 
brothers  in  the  room.     The  steam  was  coming  thick 
like  smoke  from  their  clothes,  their  faces  were  white, 
and  they  were  talking  to  one  another.     She  called  to 
them  not  to  make  a  noise,  because  mother  was  sleep- 
ing; but  her  father  said  in  a  sharp  voice,  "  Take  the 
girl  away  ;  she  is  better  out  of  the  house  1"     Then  a 
neighbor  woman  stepped  forward,  out  of  the  shadow 
of  the  door,  and  said,  "  She  shall  go  with  me."    When 
the  woman  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  the 
other  house  through  the  rain,  she  was  so  frightened 
she  could  not  say  a  word.     The  woman  led  her  in 


EIRADH    OF    CANNA.  109 

and  bade  her  seat  herself  beside  the  fire,  where  a  man 
sat  smoking  his  pipe  and  mending  his  nets.  Then 
Eiradh  heard  her  whisper  in  liis  ear,  as  she  passed 
him,  "This  is  lame  Eiradh  with  the  red  hair;  her 
mother  has  just  died." 

It  seemed  to  Eiradh  that  the  ground  was  suddoidy 
drawn  from  under  her  feet,  and  she  was  walking  high 
up  in  the  air,  and  all  around  her  were  voices  crying, 
"  Eiradh  !  Eiradh  with  the  red  hair!  yourmother  has 
just  died."  When  that  passed  away,  a  sharp  thread 
was  drawn  through  her  heart,  and  she  could  scarcely 
cry  for  pain;  but  when  the  tears  came,  they  did  her 
good,  washing  the  pang  away.  But  it  was  like  a 
dream. 

It  was  like  a  dream,  too,  the  day  the  woman  took 
her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  back  to  the  house.  The 
sea  was  loud  that  day — loud  and  dark — and  it  seemed 
to  be  saying,  "  Eiradh !  Eiradh  !  your  mother  has  just 
died."  The  home  was  clean  and  still ;  father  was  sit- 
tinir  on  a  bench  beside  the  fire  in  his  best  clothes, 
looking  veiy  white.  When  she  went  in  he  drew  her 
to  him  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and  she  sobbed 
sore.  The  woman  said,  "  Come,  Eiradh,"  and  led  her 
aside.  Something  was  lying  on  the  bed  all  white,  and 
there  was  a  smell  like  fresh-bleached  linen  in  the  air ; 
then  the  woman  lifted  up  a  kerchief,  and  Eiradh  saw 
her  mother's  face  dressed  in  a  clean  cap,  and  the  gray 
hair  brushed  down  smooth  and  neat.  Eiradh 's  tears 
stopped,  and  she  was  afraid — it  looked  so  cold.  The 
woman  said,  ''  Would  you  like  to  kiss  her,  Eiradh, 
before  they  take  her  away  ?"  But  Eiradh  drew  her 
breath  ti^ht,  and  cried  to  be  taken  out  of  the  house. 


160  THE   LAND    OF   LOIINE. 

That  niglit  slie  slejjt  in  the  neighbor's  house,  and 
tlie  next  day  her  mother  was  taken  to  the  graveyard 
on  the  liiU,  Eiradh  did  not  see  them  take  her  away ; 
but  in  the  afternoon  she  went  home  and  found  the 
house  empty.  It  was  clean  and  bright.  Tiie  peat- 
fire  was  blazing  on  the  floor,  and  there  were  bottles 
and  glasses  on  the  press  in  the  corner.  By  and  by 
her  father  and  brothers  came  in,  all  dressed  in  their 
best  clothes,  and  with  red  eyes ;  and  many  fishermen 
— neighbors — stood  at  tlic  door  to  take  the  parting 
glass,  and  went  away  quite  merry  to  their  homes. 
But  the  priest  came  and  sat  down  by  the  fire  with 
her  father  and  brothers,  and  patted  Eiradh  on  the 
head,  telling  her  not  to  cry  any  more,  because  her 
mother  was  happy  with  God.  She  went  and  sat  on 
the  ground  in  a  corner,  looking  at  them  through  her 
tears.  Iler  father  was  lighting  his  pipe,  and  she  heard 
him  say,  'She  was  a  good  wife  to  me;"  and  the 
priest  answered,  "  She  was  a  good  wife  and  a  good 
mother ;  she  has  gone  to  a  better  place."  Eiradh 
wondered  very  much  to  see  them  so  quiet  and  hard. 

With  that,  the  days  of  Eiradh's  loneliness  began. 
She  had  no  mother  to  talk  to  her  in  the  long  nights 
when  her  father  and  brothers  were  away  upon  the 
sea ;  but  she  used  to  go  to  the  neighbor-woman's 
house  and  sleep  among  the  children.  Oftener  than 
ever  before,  she  loved  to  sit  by  the  water  and  listen, 
playing  alone,  so  that  her  playmates  used  to  say,, 
"  Eiradh  is  a  stupid  girl,  and  likes  to  sit  by  herself." 
One  day  she  went  to  the  graveyard  on  the  hill  and 
searched  about  for  the  place  where  her  mother  was 
laid.     The  grass  was  long  and  green,  and  there  were 


EIRADH   OF   CANNA.  161 

great  woods  everywhere ;  but  there  was  one  place 
where  the  earth  had  been  newly  turned,  and  blades 
of  youni^  grass  were  beginning  to  creep  through  the 
clav.  She  felt  sure  tliat  her  mother  must  be  sleeping 
there.  So  she  sat  down  on  the  grave  and  began  to 
knit.  It  was  a  clear,  bright  day,  the  sheep  were  cry- 
ing on  the  hills,  and  the  sea  far  off  was  like  a  glass ; 
and  it  was  strange  to  think  her  mother  was  lying 
down  there,  so  nenr  to  her,  with  her  face  up  to  the 
sky.  Eiradh  began  wondering  how  deep  she  was  ly- 
ino-  and  whether  she  was  still  dressed  in  white.  Her 
thoughts  made  her  afraid,  and  she  looked  all  aromid 
her.  Though  it  was  daytime,  she  could  not  bear  to 
stay  any  longer,  for  she  had  heard  about  ghosts.  As 
she  walked  home  on  hor  crutch,  she  looked  round 
her  very  often,  fancying  she  heard  some  one  at  her 
back. 

Though  Eiradh*  Nicraonail  was  a  sickly  girl,  she 
was  clever  and  quick,  and  she  soon  began  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  the  house.  The  neighbor-woman  helped 
about  the  place  and  taught  Eiradh  many  things — how 
to  cook,  how  to  make  cakes  of  oatmeal  on  the  brander, 
and  how  to  wash  clothes.  She  was  so  quick  and 
willing,  and  longed  so  much  to  please  her  father  and 
brothers,  that  they  said,  "Eiradh  is  as  good  as  a 
woman  in  a  house,  though  she  is  so  young."  Then 
Eiradh  brightened,  full  of  pride,  and  ever  after  that 
kept  the  home  clean  and  pleasant,  and  forgot  her 
griefs. 

There  was  a  man  in  Canna,  a  little  old  man  with  a 
club  foot,  who  got  his  living  in  many  ways,  for  he 
could  make  shoes  and  knew  how  to  mend  nets,  and 


162  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

besides,  he  Wcos  a  learned  man,  having  been  taught,  ai, 
a  school  in  the  south.  Some  of  the  children  used  to 
go  to  him  in  the  evenings,  and  he  taught  them  how  to 
read ;  but  he  was  so  sharp  and  cross  that  sometimes 
he  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  them,  though  they 
came.  Now  and  then,  Eiradh  went  over  to  him,  and 
he  was  gentler  with  her  than  with  the  rest,  because 
she  had  a  trouble  of  the  body  like  himself.  He 
learned  her  her  letters,  and  afterward,  with  a  wooden 
trunk  for  a  desk,  made  her  try  to  write.  Often,  too, 
he  came  over  to  her  in  the  house,  and  smoked  his  pipe 
while  she  knitted  ;  but  if  her  father,  or  any  of  her 
brothers  came  in,  he  gave  them  sharp  answere  and  soon 
went  away,  while  they  laughed  and  said,  "  It  is  a  pity 
that  his  learning  does  not  make  him  more  free."  He 
was  a  strange  old  man,  and  believed  in  ghosts  and 
witches.  Eiradh  liked  to  sit  and  listen  to  his  tales. 
He  told  her  how  the  bagpipes  played  far  off  when  any 
one  was  going  to  die.  He  told  her  of  a  young  man  in 
Skye,  who  could  cause  diseases  by  the  power  of  the 
evil  eye,  and  of  a  woman  in  Barra,  who  used  to 
change  into  a  hare  every  night  and  run  up  to  the  top 
of  the  mountains  to  meet  a  spirit  in  black  by  the  side 
of  a  fire  made  out  of  the  coffins  fo  those  who  died  in  sin. 
He  had  seen  every  loophole  in  Skipness  Castle  full  of 
cats'  heads,  with  red  eyes,  and  every  head  was  the 
head  of  a  witch.  He  believed  in  dreams,  and  thought 
that  the  dead  rose  every  night  and  walked  together 
by  the  side  of  the  sea.  Often  in  the  dark  evenings, 
when  Eiradli  was  sittinf]^  at  his  knee,  he  would  take 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  tell  her  to  listen  ;  if  she 
listened  very  hard  in  the  pauses  of  the  wind,  she  would 


EIRADH   OF    CANNA.  103 

hear  something  like  a,  voice  crying,  and  he  told  lier 
that  it  was  the  spirit  of  the  poor  lady  who  died  in  the 
tower,  walking  up  and  down,  moaning  and  wringing 
its  hands. 

As  Eiradh  grew  older  she  had  so  much  to  do  in  the 
house  that  she  thouirht  of  these  thin{rs  less  than  before. 
But  when  she  sat  by  hei"self  knitting,  and  the  day's 
work  was  over,  voices  came  about  her  that  belonged 
to  another  land,  and  she  grew  so  used  to  them  that 
their  presence  seemed  company  to  her,  and  she  waa 
not  afraid.  By  the  time  that  she  was  seventeen  years 
of  age  God's  strength  had  come  upon  her,  and  she 
could  walk  about  without  her  crutch.  She  had  red 
hair,  her  face  wa^  w^hite  and  well-favored,  and  her 
eyes  were  the  color  of  the  green  sea. 

One  night,  when  her  father  and  brothers  were 
sleeping  with  her  in  the  house,  Eiradh  Kicraonail  had 
a  dream.  She  thought  she  was  standing  by  the  sea, 
and  it  was  full  of  moonlight  and  the  shadows  of  the 
stars.  While  she  stood  looking:  and  listenino;,  there 
came  up  out  of  the  sea  a  black  beast  like  a  seal,  fol- 
lowed by  five  young  ones,  and  they  floated  about  in 
the  light  of  the  moon  with  their  black  heads  up, 
listening  to  a  sound  from  far  away  like  the  music  of  a 
hai-p.  All  at  once  the  wind  rose  and  the  sea  grew 
rough  and  white,  and  the  lift  was  quite  dark.  In 
a  little  time  the  distant  music  grew  louder  and  the 
wind  died  away.  Then  Eiradh  saw  the  beast  floating 
about  alone  in  the  white  moonliorht,  and  bleatius  like 
a  shee^^  when  robbed  of  its  lamb ;  and  at  last  it  gave  a 
great  cry  and  stretched  itself  out  stiif  and  dead,  with 
its  speckled  belly  shining  uppermost  and  tlie  herring- 


1G4  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

8yle  playing  round  it  like  flashes  of  silver  light.  With 
that  she  awoke,  and  it  was  dark  night ;  the  wind  was 
crying  softly  outside,  and  she  could  hear  her  father 
and  brothers  breathing  heavy  in  their  sleep. 

The  next  day,  when  her  father  and  brother  sat 
mending  their  nets  at  the  door,  she  told  them  her 
dream.  They  only  laughed,  and  said  it  was  folly  put 
into  her  head  by  the  old  man  who  taught  her  to  read. 
But  she  saw  that  they  looked  at  one  another,  and 
were  not  well  pleased.  All  that  day  the  dream 
troubled  her  at  her  work,  and  whenever  she  heard  the 
sheep  bleat  from  the  hill-side  she  felt  faint.  The 
next  night  she  said  a  long  prayer  for  her  father 
and  brothers,  and  slept  sound.  The  dream  did  not 
come  again,  and  in  a  few  days  the  trouble  of  it  wore 
away.  But  when  the  news  came  that  they  were 
catching  herring  in  Loch  Scavaig,  and  the  fisher- 
man and  his  sons  began  preparing  their  boat  to 
sail  over  and  try  their  chance,  all  Eiradh's  fears  came 
back  upon  her  twenty-fold.  It  was  changeful  weather 
early  in  the  year;  there  were  strong  winds  and  a 
great  sea. 

The  day  before  the  boat  went  away  Ian  had  the 
rheumatic  trouble  so  sore  in  his  bones  that  he  could 
not  rise  out  of  his  bed  ;  and  he  was  still  so  sick  next 
day  that  he  told  the  young  men  to  go  away  alone,  for 
•fear  of  missing  the  good  fishing.  They  went  off  with 
a  lio-ht  heart — four  strong  men  and  a  tall  lad. 

Ian  Macraonail  never  saw  his  sons  any  more. 
Three  days  afterward,  news  was  brouglit  that  the 
boat  had  laid  over  and  filled  in  a  squall,  and  that 
every  one  on  board  had  been  drowned  in  the  sea. 


EIllADH   OF   CANNA.  105 

Then  Eiradh  knew  that  her  strange  dream  had 
partly  come  true,  but  that  more  was  to  couie  true  yet. 
The  water  cried  at  the  door.  Ian  sat  like  a  frozen 
man  in  the  house,  and  when  Eiradh  looked  at  hiia 
her  tears  ceased — she  felt  afraid,  llo  scarcely  said  a 
word,  and  did  not  cry,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  his 
meat.  He  looked  like  the  man  on  the  hill-side  when 
the  voice  of  God  came  out  of  the  burninir  bush. 

Again  and  agjain  Eiradh  cried,  "  Father !"  and  looked 
into  his  face,  but  he  held  up  his  hand  each  ti.uo  to 
warn  her  away.  A  thread  ran  throu'rh  her  heart  at 
this,  for  she  had  always  known  ho  loved  her  brothers 
best,  and  now  he  did  not  seem  to  remember  her  at  all. 
She  went  outside  the  house,  and  looked  ut  the  crying 
water,  and  hated  it  for  all  it  had  done.  Her  heart 
was  sad  for  her  five  brothers  who  were  dead,  but  it 
was  saddest  of  all  for  her  father  who  was  alive. 

The  priest  came,  and  prayed  for  the  dead.  Ian 
prayed,  too,  with  a  cold  heart.  Afterward  the  priest 
took  him  by  the  hand,  looking  into  his  eyes,  and  said, 
*'  Ian,  you  have  suffered  sore,  but  those  the  Lord  loves 
are  born  to  many  troubles."  Ian  looked  down,  and 
answered  in  a  low  voice,  "  That  is  true  ;  I  have  noth- 
ing left  now  to  live  for."  But  the  priest  said,  ""  You 
have  Eiradh,  your  daughter;  she  is  a  good  girl." 
Ian  made  no  answer,  but  sat  down  and  smoked  his 
pipe.  Eiradh  went  out  of  the  house,  and  cried  to 
herself. 

Now,  that  day  Ian  Macraonail  put  on  his  best 
black  gear  and  the  black  hat  with  the  broad  crape 
band.  The  black  clothes  made  him  look  whiter.  He 
took  his  staff,  and  went  up  over  the  hiU  on  to  the 


166  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

cliffs,  over  the  place  where  the  black  eagle  builds,  and 
stood  close  to  the  edge,  looking  over  at  Loch  S^avaig, 
where  tlie  lads  were  di'owned.  While  he  stood  there, 
a  shepherd  that  knew  him  came  by,  and,  seeing  him 
look  so  wild,  fancied  that  he  meant  to  take  the  short 
road  to  the  kirkyard.  So  the  man  touched  him  on 
the  shoulder,  saying,  "  lie  sleeps  ill  that  rocks  himself 
to  sleep.  We  are  in  God's  hands,  and  must  bide  his 
time."  Ian  knew  what  the  shepherd  meant,  and  shook 
his  head.  '*  I  have  been  a  wdl-doing  man,"  he  said, 
"  and  mine  has  been  a  well-doing  house.  I  have  drunk 
a  bitter  cup,  but  the  Lord  forbid  that  I  should  do  the 
sin  you  think  of."  So  the  ehepherd  made  the  sign  of 
the  blessed  cross,  and  went  away. 

After  that  Ian  wore  his  black  gear  eveiy  day,  and 
every  day  he  went  up  on  the  high  cliffs  to  walk.  He 
ate  his  meat  quite  hearty,  and  he  was  gentle  with 
Eiradh  in  the  house ;  but  he  stared  all  around  him 
like  a  man  at  the  helm  in  a  thick  mist,  and  listened 
as  the  man  at  the  helm  listens  in  the  mist  for  the  wind 
that  is  coming.  It  was  plain  that  he  took  little  heart 
in  his  dwelling,  or  in  the  good  money  he  had  saved. 
One  day  he  said,  "  AVhen  I  go  again  to  the  herring- 
fishing,  I  must  pay  wages  to  strangers  I  cannot  trust, 
and  things  will  not  go  well."  The  day  after  that,  at 
the  mouth  of  lateness,  the}'^  fomid  him  leaning  against 
a  stone,  close  over  the  place  where  the  black  eagle 
builds;  and  his  heart  was  turned  to  lead,  and  his 
blood  was  water,  and  there  were  no  pictures  in  his 
eyes. 

Now  Eiradh  Nicraonail  was  alone  in  the  whole 
world. 


EIRADH   or   CANNA.  107 

II. 

When  Ian  was  in  the  narrow  house  where  the  fire 
is  cold  and  the  grass  grows  at  the  door,  Eiradh  sold 
the  boats  and  the  nets,  and  all  but  the  house  slio 
Jived  in ;  and  when  she  counted  the  good  money,  she 
found  there  was  enough  to  keep  her  from  hunger  for 
a  little  time.  In  these  days  she  liad  little  heart  to 
work  in  the  house  and  in  the  fields,  and  every  thne 
she  thought  of  tliose  who  were  lying  under  the  hill 
she  f^lt  a  salt  stone  rise  in  her  tliroat.  In  the  long 
nights,  when  she  was  alone,  voices  came  out  of  the 
sea,  and  eyes  looked  at  her — she  heard  the  wind 
calling,  and  the  ghost  of  the  lady  crying  up  in  the 
tower — and  she  thought  of  all  the  strange  things  the 
old  man  had  told  her  when  she  was  small.  Often 
her  heart  was  so  troubled  that  she  had  to  run 
away  to  tlie  neighbors,  and  sit  among  them  for 
company.  She  often  said,  "I  would  rather  be  far 
away  than  here,  for  it  is  a  dull  place;"  and  she 
planned  to  take  service  on  some  farm  across  the 
water. 

The  women  bade  her  wait  and  look  out  for  a  man, 
but  Eiradh  said,  "  The  man  is  not  born  that  would 
earn  meat  for  me."  She  was  dull  and  down-looking 
in  these  days,  speaking  little,  but  her  bodily  trouble 
was  all  gone,  and  she  was  clean-limbed  and  had  a 
soft  face.  More  than  one  lad  looked  her  way,  and 
would  have  come  courting  to  her  house  at  night, 
but  she  barred  the  door  and  would  let  no  man  in. 
One  night,  when  a  fisher  lad  got  in,  and  came  laugli- 
ino:  to  her  bedside,  he  was  sore  afraid  at  the  look 
of   her  face  and   tlie  wordi  of   her  mouth,  though 


168  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

she  only  cried,  "  Go  away  this  night,  for  the  love 
of  my  father  and  mother.  I  am  sick  and  heavy  with 
sleejx" 

Tliese  were  decent  and  well-doing  lads,  8hei)herd8 
earning  good  wages,  but  Eiradh  liad  a  face  to  frigliten 
them  away. 

The   winter    after    Ian    Macraonail    died,   Calum 
Eachern,  the  tailor,  came  north  to  Canna.      The  folk 
had  been  waiting  for  him  since  long,  and  there  was 
much  work   to  be  done — so   that  Calum  was  busy 
morning  and   night   in   one  house  or  another;   but 
tliough  he  had  been  busier,  his  tongue  could  never 
have  kept  still.     Every  night  people  gathered  in  the 
place  where  he  worked,  and  those  were  merry  times. 
He  was  like  a  full  kist,  never  empty ;  his  tales  were 
never    done.     He   had    the    story   of   the    king   of 
Lochlan's  daughter,  and  how  Fionn  killed  the  great 
bird  of  the  red  beak,  and  many  more  beside.     He 
loved  best  to  tell  about  the  men  of  peace,  with  their 
green    houses    under    the   hillside,    and    about    the 
changeling  bairns  that  play  the  fairy  pipes  in  the 
time  of  sleep,  and  about  the  ladies  with  green  gowns, 
that  sit  in  the  magic  wells  and  tempt  the  herdboys 
with  silver  rings.     He  had  that  many  riddles   they 
were  like  the  limpets  on  the  sea-.shore.     He  knew  old 
songs,  and  he  had  the  gift  of  making  rhymes  himself 
to  his  own  tune.     So  the  coming  of  Calum  Eachern 
was  like  the  playing  of  pipes  at  a  wedding  on  a  sum- 
mer day. 

Calum  was  little,  narrow  in  the  shoulders,  and 
short  in  the  legs.  His  face  was  like  a  china  cu])  for 
neatness.     He  had  a  little  turued-up  nose,  and  white 


EIRADH    OF   CANNA.  160 

teetli,  and  lio  shaved  his  beard  clean  every  day.  lie 
had  a  little  twinkling  eye  like  a  fox's,  and  when  ho 
talked  to  you  he  cocked  his  head  on  one  side,  like  a 
sparrow  on  a  dyke. 

One  night,  he  was  at  work  in  a  neighbor's  house, 
and  Eiradli  went  in  with  the  rest.  Calum  sat 
on  his  board,  and  some  were  looking  on  and  listen- 
ing to  his  talk.  When  Eiradh  went  in,  he  put  hia 
head  on  one  side  and  looked  at  her,  and  said  in  a 
rhyme — 

"  What  did  the  fox  say? 
'  Huch  !  huch  1  huch  !'  cried  the  fox  ; 
'  Cold  are  017  bones  this  day — 
«  I  have  lent  my  skin  to  cover  the  head 

Of  the  girl  with  the  red  hair."' 

All  the  folk  laughed,  and  Eiradh,  laughed,  too. 
Then  she  sat  down  on  the  floor  by  the  fire,  and 
hearkened  with  her  cheek  on  her  hand.  Calum 
Eachern  was  like  a  bee  in  the  time  of  honey.  He 
stitched,  and  sang,  and  told  tales  about  the  men  of 
peace,  and  the  land  where  jewels  grew  as  thick  as 
chuckie-stones,  and  gold  is  as  plenty  as  the  sand  of 
the  sea.  Whenever  Eiradh  looked  up,  he  had  his 
head  on  one  side,  and  his  eyes  were  laughing  at  her. 
By  and  by  he  nodded,  and  said  : 

"  What  did  the  sea-gull  say  ?  ' 

'  Kriki !  kriki!'  cried  the  sea-gull ; 
'  Hard  it  is  to  hatch  my  eggs  this  day — 
I  have  lent  my  white  breast 
To  the  girl  with  the  red  hair,' " 

Then  he  nodded  again,  and  said : 


IVO  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

"  What  did  the  heron  say  ? 
'  Kray  !  kray  1'  (said  the  heron; 
'  Poor  is  my  fishing  in  the  loch  this  day — 

I  have  lent  my  long,  straight  leg 

To  the  girl  with  the  red  hair.' " 

With  that,  he  flung  down  the  shears  and  laughed 
till  the  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  Eiradli  felt  angry  and 
ashamed,  and  went  away. 

But  for  all  that,  she  was  not  ill  pleased.  Listening 
to  Oalum  Eachern  had  been  like  sitting  out  of  doors 
on  a  bright,  sunny  day.  It  made  her  heart  light.  All 
the  niffht  long  she  thought  of  his  talk.     She  had  nev- 

DO  O 

er  heard  talcs  like  those  before — all  about  brightness 
and  a  pleasant  place.  When  she  went  to  sleep,  she 
dreamed  she  was  in  an  enchanted  castle,  all  made 
of 'silver  mines  and  ])recious  stones,  and  that  Calum 
Eachern  was  showing  her  a  fountain  full  of  gold  fish, 
and  the  fountain  seemed  to  fall  in  rhyme.  All  at 
once,  Calum  laughed  so  loud  that  the  castle  was 
broken  into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  when  she  woke  up 
it  was  bright  day. 

The  day  after  that,  who  should  come  into  the  house 
but  Calum  Eachern.  "A  blessing  on  this  house ! " 
said  he,  and  he  sat  down  beside  the  fire.  Eiradh  was 
putting  the  potatoes  in  the  big  pot,  and  Calum  pointed 
at  the  pot,  and  said : 

"  Totoman,  totoman, 
Little  black  man. 
Three  foot  under 
And  bonnet  of  wood  !" 

Eiradh  laughed  at  the  riddle.  Then  Calum, 
seeing  she  was  pleased,  began  to  talk  and  sing, 
putting  his  head  on  one  side  and  laughing.     All  at 


EIIIADH    OF    CANNA.  171 

once  he  said,  looking  quite  serious,  "It's  not  much 
company  you  will  be  having  here,  Eiradli  Nicra- 
onail." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  said  Eiradh. 

"  It's  a  dull  house  that  is  without  the  cry  of  hairns, 
I'm  thinkiniT," 

"  And  that's  true,  too,"  said  Eiradh. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  take  a  man  ? "  said  he,  look- 
ing at  her  very  sharp. 

Eiradh  gave  her  head  a  toss,  and  lifted  up  tlic  lid 
of  the  pot  to  look  in. 

"  Your  cheek  is  like  a  rose  for  redness,"  said  Caluni. 
"  Are  ye  ashamed  to  answer  ?  " 

At  that  Eiradh  lifted  up  her  head  and  looked  him 
straight  in  the  face. 

"  The  man  is  not  born  that  I  heed  a  straw,"  said 
she. 

Calum  laughed  out  loud  to  hear  her  say  that,  and  a 
little  after  he  went  away. 

Eiradh  did  not  know  whether  she  was  pleased  or 
angry,  and  all  that  night  she  had  little  sleep.  She 
did  not  like  to  be  laughed  at,  and  yet  she  could  not 
be  rightly  angry  with  such  a  merry  fellow  as  Calum. 
It  seemed  strange  to  her  that  he  should  come  to  the 
house  at  all. 

It  seemed  stranger,  the  next  night,  when  Calum 
came  in  again,  and  sat  down  by  the  fire. 

"  How  does  the  Lord  use  you  this  night,  Eiradh 
Nicraonail  ? " 

"  The  Lord  is  good,"  answered  Eiradh. 

^*  Can  you  read  print  ?  "  he  said,  smiling. 

'*  Ay,"  answered  Eiradh,  "  print,  and  writing  too.'* 


172  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

"  And  that's  a  comfort,''  said  Calum.  "  But  IVe 
brought  you  somebody  to  sit  with  ye  by  the  fire  in  the 
long  nights." 

"  And  what's  he  like  ? "  asked  Eiradh,  thinking 
Calum  meant  himself. 

"  He's  not  over  fine  to  look  at,  but  he's  mighty 
learned.  He's  a  little  old  man  with  a  leather  skin, 
and  his  name  written  on  his  face,  and  the  marks  o' 
thumbs  all  over  his  inside." 

"  And  where  is  he  this  night  ? " 

"  This  is  him,  and  here  he  is,  and  many  a  merry 
thing  he'll  teach  you,  if  you  attend  to  his  talking," 
said  Calum  ;  and  he  gave  her  a  little  book  in  the 
Gaelic,  very  old,  and  covered  with  black  print ;  and 
soon  after  that  he  went  away. 

"When  he  was  gone,  Eiradh  sat  down  by  the  fire 
and  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  book  that  he  had 
given  her,  and  it  seemed  like  the  voice  of  Calum  talk- 
ing in  her  ear.  There  were  stories  about  the  fairies 
and  the  men  of  peace,  and  shieling  songs  of  the  south 
country,  and  riddles  for  the  fireside  in  the  south  coun- 
try on  Ilalloween.  Eiradh  read  till  she  was  tired, 
and  some  of  the  stories  made  her  laugh  afterward,  as 
she  sat  by  the  fireside  with  her  cheek  on  her  hand.  She 
could  not  help  thinking  that  it  would  be  fine  to  live 
in  the  south  country,  where  there  was  corn  growing 
everywhere,  and  gardens  full  of  flowers,  and  no  sea. 

After  that  Cahnn  Eachern  came  often  to  the  house, 
and  Eiradh  did  not  tell  him  to  stay  away.  Some  of 
the  folk  said  :  "  Calum  Eachern  has  a  bad  name,"  and 
bade  Eiradh  beware,  because  he  had  a  false  tongue. 
Eiradh  laughed,  and  said:  "  I  fear  the  tongue  of  no 


EIRADn    OF    CANNA.  IT.3 

man."  Every  night  she  read  the  printed  book,  till 
ehe  knew  it  from  the  first  page  to  tlie  last,  and  when 
Bhe  was  ah)ne,  she  wonld  sing  hits  of  tlie  songs  to 
Calum  Eachem's  tunes.  Sometimes  she  wouhl  stand 
on  the  seashore,  and  look  out  across  the  water,  and 
wonder  what  like  was  the  country  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Rlui.  In  those  davs  she  was  sick  of  Canna,  and 
thought  to  herself:  "  If  I  was  living  in  the  south 
country,  I  should  not  be  afraid  of  them  that  are 
dead  ;  "  and  she  remembered  Calum's  words  :  "  It's 
not  much  company  you  will  be  having  here,  Eiradh 
I*Jicraonail." 

One  night  there  was  a  boat  from  Tvree  in  the  har- 
bor,  and  when  Caliun  came  in  late,  Eiradh  knew  that 
he  had  been  drinking  with  the  Tyree  men.  Ilis  face 
was  red,  and  his  breath  smelt  strong  of  the  drink. 
He  tried  hard  to  get  his  will  of  her  that  night,  but 
Eiradh  was  a  well-doing  girl,  and  pushed  him  out  of 
the  house.  She  was  angry,  and  fit  to  cry,  thinking  of 
the  words :  "  Calum  Eachem  has  a  bad  name."  That 
night  she  had  a  dream.  She  thought  she  was  walk- 
ing by  the  side  of  the  sea,  on  a  light  night,  and  she 
had  a  bairn  in  her  arms,  and  she  was  giving  it  the 
breast.  As  she  walked,  she  could  hear  the  ghost  of 
the  lady  crying  in  the  tower.  Then  she  felt  the  babe 
she  carried  as  heavy  as  lead,  and  it  spoke  with  a  man's 
voice,  and  had  white  teeth ;  and  when  she  looked  at 
its  face,  it  was  Calum's  face,  laughing,  all  cocked  on 
one  side.     With  that  she  woke. 

When  she  saw  Calem  next,  he  hung  down  his 
head,  and  looked  so  strange  and  sad  that  she  could 
not  help  laughing  as  she  passed  by.     Then   he  ran 


174  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

after,  and  she  turned  upon  hiui  full  of  anger.  But 
Calum  had  a  smooth  toniijue,  and  she  soon  forgot  her 
anger  listening  to  one  of  his  tales.  She  liked  him 
best  of  all  that  day,  for  he  was  quiet  and  serious,  and 
never  laughed  once.  Eiradh  thought  to  herself: 
*'  The  man  is  no  worse  than  other  men,  and  drink 
will  change  a  wise  man  into  a  fool." 

Calum  never  tried  to  wrong  her  again,  but  one  night 
he  spoke  out  plain,  and  asked  her  to  marry  him,  and 
go  home  with  him  in  a  Canna  boat  to  the  south.  It 
was  a  long;  while  ere  Eiradh  answered  a  word.  She 
sat  with  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  looking  at  the  fire, 
and  thinking  of  the  night  her  mother  died,  and  of  her 
father  and  brothers  that  were  drowned,  and  of  the 
voices  that  came  to  her  out  of  the  sea.  It  was  a 
rough  night,  and  the  wind  blew  sharp  from  the  east, 
and  she  could  hear  the  water  at  the  door.  Then 
she  looked  at  Calum,  and  he  had  a  bright  smile, 
and  held  out  his  hand.  But  she  only  said  :  "  Go 
away  this  night ;  "  and  he  went  away  without  a  word. 
All  night  long  she  thought  of  his  words  :  "  It's  a 
dull  house  without  the  cry  of  bairns,"  and  she  remem- 
bered the  days  when  her  mother  used  to  nurse  her, 
and  her  father  cut  her  the  crutch  of  wood  with  his 
own  hands.  Next  morning  the  sea  was  still,  and  the 
light  was  the  color  of  gold  on  the  land  beyond  the 
Rhu.  That  day  the  folk  seemed  sharp  and  cold, 
and  more  than  one  mocked  her  with  the  name  of 
Calum ;  so  that  she  said  to  herself,  "  They  shall  not 
mock  me  without  a  cause  ; "  and  when  Calum  came 
to  her  the  next  night,  she  said  she  would  be  his 
good  wife. 


EIHADII    Ol'    OANNA..  l'''''^ 

Soon  after  that  Calum  Eacliern  and  Eiradh  Nic- 
raonail  were  married  by  the  priest  from  Skye  ;  and 
the  day  they  married  they  went  on  board  a  Canna 
smack  that  was  sailing  south.  An  okl  man  from 
Tyree  was  at  the  helm,  and  she  sat  on  her  kist  close 
to  him.  Calum  sat  up  by  the  mast  with  the  men, 
who  were  all  Canna  lads,  and  as  thoy  all  talked  to- 
gether, Calum  whispered  something  and  laughed,  and 
all  the  lads  looked  at  her  and  laughed  too.  Ciilum 
was  full  of  drink.  He  had  a  bottle  of  whisky  in 
the  breast  of  his  coat,  and  as  the  boat  sailed  out  of 
the  bay,  he  waved  it  to  the  folk  on  shore,  and 
laughed  like  a  wild  man. 

Now  Eiradh  felt  sadder  and  sadder  as  she  saw  Can- 
na growing  farther  and  farther  away ;  for  she  thought 
of  her  father  and  mother,  and  of  the  graveyard  on 
the  hill.  The  more  the  thought,  the  more  she  felt 
the  tears  in  her  eyes  and  the  stone  in  her  tliroat. 
Going  round  the  Rhu  she  had  the  sea-sickness,  and 
thought  she  was  going  to  die.  Though  she  had  dwelt 
beside  the  sea  so  many  years,  she  had  never  sailed  on 
the  water  in  a  boat. 

III. 

AYhere  Calum  Eachern  lived,  the  folk  had  strange 
ways,  and  many  of  them  had  both  the  Gaelic  and  the 
Eno-lish.  Their  houses  were  whitewashed,  and  roofed 
with  slate,  and  there  was  a  long  street,  with  shops 
full  of  all  things  that  man  could  wish,  and  there  was  a 
house  for  the  sale  of  drink.  The  roads  were  broad, 
and  smooth  as  your  hand,  and  on  the  sides   of  the 


1V6  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

hiJls  were  fields  of  com  and  potatoes.  The  sea  was 
twenty  miles  away,  but  there  was  a  burn,  on  the 
banks  of  which  the  women  used  to  tread  their  clothes. 
Eiradh  thought  to  herself,  "  It  is  not  as  fine  a  country 
as  Calum  said." 

Calum's  house  was  the  poorest  house  there.  It  had 
two  rooms,  and  in  the  front-room  Calum  worked; 
the  back-room  was  a  kitchen,  with  a  bed  in  the  wall. 
Eiradh  had  brought  with  her  some  of  the  furniture 
from  her  father's  house,  and  plenty  of  woolen  woof 
made  by  her  mother's  own  hands  ;  and  she  soon  made 
the  place  pleasant  and  clean.  They  had  not  been 
home  a  day  when  the  laird  came  in  for  the  back  rent 
that  was  due,  and  Eiradh  paid  the  money  out  of  her 
own  store.  She  had  the  money  in  a  stocking  inside 
her  kist,  and  some  of  it  was  in  copper  and  silver,  but 
there  were  pound  notes,  quite  ragged  and  old  with  be- 
ing kept  so  many  years. 

It  would  take  me  a  long  winter's  night  to  tell  all 
that  Eiradh  thought  in  those  days.  She  was  like  one 
in  a  dream.  She  felt  it  strange  to  see  so  many  people 
coming  and  going  in  and  out  of  the  shops  and  houses, 
and  the  crowds  on  market-days,  and  the  great  heap  of 
eheep  and  cattle.  The  folk  were  civil  and  fair-spoken, 
but  most  of  the  men  drank  at  the  public-house.  There 
was  a  man  next  door  who  would  get  mad-drunk  every 
night  he  had  the  money,  and  it  was  a  sad  sight  to  see 
his  wife's  face  cut  and  bruised,  and  the  bairns  at  her 
side  ciying  for  lack  of  food.  Many  of  the  men  were 
weavers,  and  walked  lame,  as  Eiradh  used  to  do,  and 
had  pale,  sickly  faces,  black  under  the  eyes.  The 
Gaelic  they  had  was  a  different  Gaelic  from  that  the 


EIRADH    OV    CANNA.  177 

folk  had  in  Canna,  and  sometimes  EIradli  conld  not 
understand  it  at  all. 

Kow,  it  was  not  lonp^  ere  Eiradh  found  that  Calum 
had  a  bad  name  in  the  place  for  drinking ;  and  be- 
sides, he  had  beguiled  a  servant  lass  the  year  before, 
under  the  promise  of  marriage.  Eiradh  thought  of 
the  night  when  lie  had  come  drunk  to  the  house,  but 
she  said  nothing  to  Calum.  She  would  sit  and  watch 
him  for  hours,  and  wonder  she  had  thought  him  so 
bright  and  free ;  for  she  soon  saw  he  was  a  double 
man,  with  a  side  for  his  home  and  another  for  stran- 
gers; and  the  fii*st  side  was  as  dull  as  the  second  was 
bright.  lie  never  raised  his  hand  to  her  in  those 
days,  and  was  sober ;  but  he  would  sit  with  a  silent 
tongue,  and  sometimes  give  her  a  strange  look.  Eiradh 
thought  to  herself,  "  Calum  is  like  the  south  country, 
and  looks  brightest  to  them  that  are  farthest  away." 

Ayear  after  they  had  come  to  the  south  coimtry,  Cal- 
um turned  his  front  room  into  a  shop,  and  made  Eiradh 
look  after  it  while  he  was  at  work.  The  goods  were 
bought  with  her  own  good  money,  and  were  tea,  sugar, 
tobacco,  and  meal.  The  first  month  Eiradh  got  all 
her  money  back.  It  was  pleasant  to  sit  there  and 
sell,  and  know  that  she  made  a  profit  on  each  thing 
she  sold  ;  and  Calum  was  light  and  merry,  when  he 
saw  that  his  idea  had  turned  out  well.  Eiradh's 
health  was  not  so  good  in  those  days,  and  she  had  no 
children. 

After  that  came  days  of  trouble,  for   Calum  grew 

worse  and  worse.     He    would  take  the  money  that 

Eiradh  had  earned,  and  spend  it  in  the  public-house  ; 

and  when  he  came  home  in  drink,  he  raised  his  hand 
8* 


lis  THE    LAND   OF    LORNE. 

to  lier  more  than  once.  Then  Eiradh  thought  to  her- 
self, "  My  father  did  not  love  me,  but  he  never  struck 
me  a  blow  ;  there  is  not  a  man  in  Canna  who  would 
lift  his  hand  to  a  woman."  After  tliat  she  took  no 
pleasure  in  trade,  but  would  sit  with  a  sick  face  and 
a  silent  tongue,  thinkincc  of  Canna  in  the  sea.  Calum 
liked  her  the  less  because  she  did  not  complain.  One 
day  he  told  her  he  did  not  many  her  for  herself,  but 
for  the  money  she  had  saved  ;  and  this  was  a  sore 
thing  to  say  to  her ;  but  though  the  tears  made  her 
blind,  she  only  looked  at  him  and  did  not  answer  a 
word.  There  was  some  of  the  money  left  in  her  kist, 
but  she  never  cared  to  look  at  it  after  what  Calum 
had  said. 

After  the  day  he  married  Eiradli,  Calum  had  never 
left  his  home  to  work  through  the  country  as  he  once 
did.  But  one  night  late  in  the  year  he  said  he  must 
go  south  on  business,  and  in  the  morning  he  went 
away.  Eiradh  never  saw  him  again  on  this  side  the 
narrow  house.  lie  went  straight  to  the  big  city  of 
Glasgow,  and  there  he  met  the  lass  he  had  beguiled 
the  year  he  married  Eiradh,  and  the  two  sailed  over 
the  seas  to  Canada.  The  news  came  quick  to  Eiradh 
by  the  mouth  of  one  who  saw  them  on  the  quay. 

One  would  need  the  tongue  of  a  witch  to  tell  all 
Eiradh's  thoughts  in  those  days.  The  first  news 
seemed  like  the  roar  of  the  sea  the  time  her  brothers 
died,  and  the  words  stopped  in  her  ears  like  the  cry- 
ing of  the  water  day  and  night.  Slie  felt  ashamed  to 
show  herself  in  the  street,  and  she  could  not  bear  the 
comfort  of  the  good  wives ;  for  they  all  said,  "  Calum 
had  ever  a  bad  name,"  and  she  remembered  how  tlie 


EIRADII   OF   CANNA.  Il9 

folk  in  Canna  had  used  the  same  words.  She  would 
sit  with  her  apron  over  her  face,  and  greet*  for  hours 
with  no  noise.  It  seemed  dreadful  to  he  there  in  the 
south  country,  without  friend  or  kindred,  and  the  folk 
havino*  a  different  Gaelic  from  her  own.  She  felt 
sick  and  stupid,  just  like  herself  when  she  would  cry 
night  and  day  from  the  cradle,  without  strength  to 
run  upon  her  feet.  She  thought  to  herself,  "  I  may 
cry  till  my  heart  breaks  now,  but  no  one  heeds;" 
and  the  thought  brought  up  the  picture  of  her  mother 
lying  in  the  bed  all  white,  and  made  her  cry  the 
more.  Kow,  in  those  days  voices  came  about  her 
that  belonged  to  another  land,  and  the  faces  of  her 
father  and  mother  went  past  her  like  the  white  break- 
ing of  a  wave  on  the  beach  in  the  night.  She  had 
dreams  whenever  she  slept,  and  in  every  one  of  her 
dreams  she  heard  the  souirh  of  the  sea. 

But  Eiradh  Eachern  was  a  well-doing  lass,  and  had 
been  bred  to  face  trouble  when  it  came.  Her  lirst 
thought  was  this :  "  I  will  go  back  to  Canna  in  the 
sea,  and  w^ork  for  my  bread  in  the  fields."  But  when 
she  looked  in  the  kist,  she  found  that  Calum  had  been 
there  and  taken  away  all  the  good  money  out  of  the 
stocking,  and  a  picture  beside  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  set 
round  with  yellow  gold  and  precious  stones  the 
color  of  blood.  Now,  this  grieved  Eiradh  most. 
She  did  not  heed  the  money  so  much,  but  the  picture 
had  belonged  to  her  mother,  and  she  would  not  have 
parted  with  it  for  hundreds  of  pounds.  She  felt  a 
sharp  thread  run  through  her  heart,  and  she  was  sick 
for  pain. 

*  Weep. 


180  THE  LAMU   OF  LORNE. 

It  is  a  wonder  how  much  trouble  a  strong  man 
or  woman  in  good  health  can  bear  when  it  comes. 
Eiradii  thought  to  herself  at  first,  "  I  shall  die; "  but 
she  did  not  die.  The  Lord  was  not  willing  that  she 
should  be  taken  away  then.  He  spared  her,  as  he 
had  spared  her  in  her  sickness  when  a  bairn  at  the 
breast. 

One  day  a  neighbor  came  in  and  said,  "Will 
you  not  keep  open  the  shop  the  same  as  before? 
You  have  always  paid  for  your  goods,  and  those  that 
sent  them  will  not  press  for  payment  at  first." 
Now,  Eiradh  had  never  thought  of  that,  and  her 
heart  lightened.  That  same  day  she  got  the 
schoolmaster  to  write  a  letter,  in  the  English,  to 
the  big  city,  asking  goods.  The  next  week  the 
goods  came. 

Then  Eiradh  thought,  "God  has  not  forsaken 
me,"  and  worked  hard  to  put  all  in  order  as  before. 
Many  folk  came  and  bought  from  her,  out  of  kind- 
ness at  first,  but  afterward  because  they  said  she 
was  a  just  woman,  and  gave  full  value  for  their 
money.  All  this  gladdened  her  heart.  She  said, 
"  God  helps  those  that  are  fallen,"  and  every  penny 
that  she  earned  seemed  to  have  the  blessing  of 
God. 

In  those  times  she  would  lock  up  the  house  when 
the  day  was  done,  and  walk  by  herself  along  the 
side  of  the  burn ;  for  the  sound  of  the  water  seemed 
like  old  times ;  and  when  the  moon  came  out  on  the 
r^rcen  fields,  they  looked  for  all  the  world  like  smooth 
water.  Yoices  from  another  land  came  to  her,  and 
spirits  passed  before  her  eyes ;  so  that  she  often  thought 


EIRADH    OF    CA'NNA.  181 

to  hereelf,  "  I  wonder  how  Canna  looks  this  night, 
and  whether  it  is  storm  or  calm  ?" 

I  might  talk  till  the  snmmcr  came,  and  not  tell 
you  half  of  the  many  thoughts  Eiradh  had  in  the 
south  country.  She  loved  to  sit  by  herself,  as  when 
she  was  a  child;  and  the  folk  thought  her  a  dull 
woman,  with  a  white  face.  The  women  said,  "  Calum 
Eachern's  wife  has  the  greed  of  money  strong  in  her 
heart,  but  she  is  a  just-dealing  woman."  It  was 
true  that  Eu-adh  found  pleasure  in  trade,  and  would 
not  sell  to  those  who  did  not  come  to  buy  money  in 
hand.  Every  piece  she  saved  she  put  in  the  stocking 
in  the  old  kist,  and  every  week  she  counted  it  out  in 
her  lap. 

So  the  time  passed,  and  sometimes  Eiradh  could 
hardly  call  up  right  the  memory  of  Calum's  face.  It 
seemed  like  a  dream.  These  were  the  days  of  her 
prosperity,  and  every  week  she  saved  something,  and 
every  second  Sabbath  she  saw  the  priest.  Now,  the 
folk  in  those  parts  had  a  religion  of  their  own,  and 
did  not  believe  in  the  Virgin  Mary  or  the  Pope  of 
Rome.  Some  of  them  were  worse  than  that,  and  did 
not  believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  All  the  chil- 
dren had  the  English  as  well  as  the  Gaelic  ;  and  the 
preachings  were  in  the  English,  and  the  English  was 
taught  in  the  school.  But  all  the  time  she  lived  in 
the  south  Eiradh  could  not  speak  a  word  of  that 
tongue.  It  seemed  to  her  like  the  chirping  of  birds, 
with  little  meaning  and  a  heap  of  sound. 

All  the  years  Eiradh  sat  in  the  shop,  the  Lord 
drew  silver  threads  in  her  hair,  and  made  lines  like 
pencil-marks  over  her  face  ;  and  when  she  was  thirty- 


182  THE  LAND   OF  LORNE. 

five  years  of  age  her  sight  failed  her,  and  she  had  to 
wear  glasses.  She  had  little  sickness,  but  she  stooped 
in  the  shoulders,  and  had  a  dry  cough.  In  those  days 
she  did  not  go  out  of  the  house  at  night,  but  sat  over 
the  fire  reading  the  book  Caluin  had  given  her  long 
years  before.  The  leaves  of  the  book  were  all  black 
and  torn,  and  many  of  the  pages  were  gone.  Every 
time  she  looked  at  it  she  thought  of  old  times.  She 
had  little  pleasure  in  the  tales  and  riddles  of  the 
south  country — all  about  brightness  and  a  pleasant 
place ;  for  she  thought  to  herself,  "  The  tales  are  all 
lies,  and  the  south  country  looks  brightest  far  off,  and 
the  folk  do  not  believe  in  the  Virgin  Mary  or  the 
saints,"  For  all  that,  she  liked  to  look  at  the  old 
book  ;  and  let  her  thoughts  go  back  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, like  the  flowing  of  water  in  a  bum.  Best  of  all, 
she  loved  to  coimt  the  bright  money  into  her  lap,  and 
think  how  the  neighbors  j^raised  her  as  a  just-dealing 
woman  who  throve  well. 

lY. 

The  years  went  past  Eiradh  Eachem  like  the  waves 
breaking  on  the  shore,  and  the  days  were  as  like  each 
other  as  the  waves  breaking,  and  she  could  not  coimt 
them  at  all.  She  was  like  the  young  maii  that  went 
to  sleep  on  the  Island  of  Peace,  and  had  a  dream  of 
watching  the  fairy  people,  and  when  he  woke  he  was 
old  and  frail  upon  his  feet.  Eiradh  was  fifty  years  of 
age  when  she  counted  the  money  in  her  kist  for  the 
last  time,  and  found  that  she  had  put  by  a  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds  in  good  money.     That  night  she 


EIRADII   OF   CANNA.  183 

sat  with  the  heap  of  money  in  her  lap,  and  the  salt 
tears  running  down  her  elieeks,  and  her  bottom-lip 
quivering  like  the  witliercd  leaf  on  the  bough  of  a 
tree. 

Now,  all  these  years  Eiradh  had  one  thought,  and 
it  was  this:  "Before  I  die,  I  will  go  back  to  Canna 
in  the  sea."  Every  day  of  her  life  slie  fancied  she 
saw  the  picture  of  the  green  cliffs  covered  with  goats 
and  sheep,  and  the  black  scarts  sitting  on  the  weedy 
rocks  in  a  row,  and  the  sea  rising  and  falling  like 
the  soft  breasts  of  a  woman  in  sound  sleep.  Every 
ni<iht  of  her  life  she  had  a  dream  of  her  father's 
house  by  the  shore,  and  the  water  crying  at  the 
door.  It  seemed  ever  calm  weather  to  her  thoughts, 
and  the  sea  was  kinder  and  sweeter  than  when  she 
was  a  child.  Eiradh  often  thought  to  herself,  "  The 
water  took  away  my  five  brothei*s,  and  close  to  the 
water  my  father  and  mother  closed  their  eyes ;"  and 
the  more  she  thought  of  them  sleeping,  the  less  she 
was  afraid. 

So  when  she  had  saved  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  in  good  money,  she  felt  that  she  could  abide 
no  longer  in  the  south  country.  The  more  she  tried 
to  stay  a  little  longer,  the  more  voices  from  another 
land  came  to  her,  saying,  "  Eiradh,  Eiradh !  go  back 
to  Canna  in  the  sea."  At  last  she  had  a  dream ;  and 
she  thought  she  was  lying  in  her  sowe*  in  a  dark 
land,  waiting  to  be  laid  in  the  earth.  All  at  once  she 
felt  herself  rocking  up  and  down,  and  heard  the  sound 
of  the  sea  crying,  and  when  she  put  out  her  hand  at 

*  Sliroud. 


184  THE   LAND   OF   LOIINE. 

her  side  it  was  dripping  wet.  Then  Eiradh  knew 
that  she  was  drifting  in  a  boat,  and  tlie  boat  was  a 
coffin  witli  the  lid  off,  and  thougli  there  was  a  strong 
wind  she  floated  on  the  waves  like  a  cork.  All  nijxht 
long  she  floated  and  never  saw  land ;  only  a  light 
shining  far,  far  ofi",  over  the  dark  water.  When  she 
woke  she  was  sore  troubled,  and  said  to  herself,  "  It  is 
my  wraith  that  I  saw,  and  unless  I  haste  I  may  never 
see  my  home  again." 

After  that  she  never  rested  till  she  had  sold  the 
trade  of  her  shop  in  the  south  country,  and  all  she 
kept  to  herself  was  the  old  kist  full  of  her  clothes  and 
the  money  she  had  saved.  But  she  made  a  pouch  of 
leather  with  her  own  hands,  and  put  the  money  in  it, 
and  fastened  the  pouch  to  her  waist  underneath  her 
clothes,  and  the  only  thing  in  the  pouch  beside  the 
money  was  the  old  book  in  the  Gaelic  Calum  had 
given  her  when  she  was  a  young  woman. 

I  have  told  you  that  the  place  was  twenty  miles 
from  the  sea.  One  day  she  put  her  kist  in  a  cart  that 
was  going  that  way,  and  the  day  after  she  took  the 
road.  It  was  a  fine  morning,  early  in  the  year. 
"When  she  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  saw  the  place 
below  her  where  she  had  lived  so  long,  all  asleep  and 
still,  with  the  smoke  going  straight  up  out  of  the 
houses,  and  not  a  soul  in  the  street,  it  seemed  like  a 
dream.  As  she  went  on,  the  country  was  strange, 
but  it  looked  finer  and  bonnier  than  any  country  she 
had  ever  seen.  Now,  her  heart  was  so  light  that  day 
that  she  could  walk  like  a  strong  man.  The  sun  came 
out,  and  the  birds  sang,  and  the  land  was  green,  and 
wherever  she  went  the  sheep  cried.     Eiradh  thought 


EIRADII    OF   CANNA.  185 

to  herself,    "My  dream  was   true    after   all,  and   the 
south  country  is  a  pleasant  place." 

For  all  that  she  was  weary hif^  to  see  Canna  in  the 
sea,  and  wondering  if  it  was  the  same  all  those  years. 
She  counted  on  her  fingers  the  names  of  the  folks  she 
knew,  and  wondered  how  many  were  dead.  Every 
one  of  them  seemed  like  a  friend.  She  was  keen  to 
hear  her  own  Gaelic  again  after  so  many  years  in  a 
foreign  land. 

She  walked  twelve  miles  that  day,  and  slept  at  a 
farm  by  the  road  at  night.  The  next  day  she  saw 
the  sea. 

It  was  good  weather,  and  the  sea  was  covered  with 
fishing-boats  and  ships.  She  could  hear  the  sough  of 
the  water  a  long  way  off,  and  it  seemed  like  old 
times.  There  was  a  bit  village  on  the  shore,  full  of 
fisher-folk,  and  the  houses  minded  her  of  those  where 
she  was  born.  There  were  skiflfs  drawn  up  on  the 
shore,  and  nets  put  out  to  dry,  and  the  air  was  full  of 
the  smell  of  fish. 

She  slept  in  the  house  of  a  fisher-woman  that  night, 
and  the  next  day  a  fishing-boat  took  her  out  to  catch 
the  big  steamboat  to  Tobermory.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  Eiradh  had  seen  a  boat  like  that,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  like  a  great  beast  panting  and  groan- 
ing, and  swimming  through  the  water  with  fins  and 
tail.  It  was  full  of  the  smell  of  fish,  and  the  decks 
were  covered  with  herring-barrels,  and  where  there 
were  no  herring-barrels  there  were  cattle  and  sheep. 
In  one  part  of  the  boat  there  was  a  long  box  like  a 
coffin,  covered  over  with  a  piece  of  tarpaulin  to  keep 
it  dry ;  and  one  of  the  sailors  told  Eiradh  that  it  held 


186  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

the  dead  body  of  an  old  man  fro:n  Skye,  who  had 
died  on  the  Firth  o'  Clyde,  and  was  being  carried 
home  to  be  buried  with  his  kindred  at  home.  Eiradli 
said,  "It  is  a  sad  thing  to  be  buried  far  away  from 
kindred  ;"  and  she  thought  to  herself,  "  If  I  had  died 
in  the  south  country,  there  would  have  been  no  kin 
or  friend  to  carry  me  to  Canna  in  theeea." 

Neither  wind  nor  tide  could  keep  the  big  steam- 
boat back  ;  so  wonderful  are  the  works  of  the  hand  of 
man,  when  God  is  willing.  Late  at  night  Eiradh 
landed  at  Tobermory  in  Mull,  but  the  moon  was 
bright,  and  she  saw  that  the  bay  was  full  of  fishing- 
boats  at  anchor.  Eiradh  wondered  to  herself  if  any 
of  the  boats  were  from  Canna. 

She  got  a  lodging  in  the  inn  that  night,  and  the 
next  morning  she  went  down  to  the  shore.  There 
were  heaps  of  fishennen  on  the  beach,  and  many  of 
them  passed  her  the  sign  of  the  day,  but  none  of  them 
seemed  to  have  her  own  Gaelic.  Then  Eiradh  said, 
"Is  there  a  Canna  boat  in  the  bay?"  and  they  said, 
"  Ay,"  and  pointed  out  a  big  smack  with  her  sails  up, 
and  a  great  patch  on  the  mainsail.  The  skipper  of  the 
smack  was  on  shore,  and  his  name  was  Alastair.  He 
was  a  big  black- whiskered  man,  with  large  silly  eyes 
like  a  seal's.  Eiradh  minded  him  well,  thouirh  ho 
was  a  laddie  when  she  left,  and  went  up  and  called 
him  by  his  name,  but  he  stared  at  her  and  shook  hia 
head.  Then  Eiradh  said,  "Do  you  mind  Eiradh 
JSTicraonail,  who  dwelt  in  the  small  house  by  the  sea  ?" 
and  the  man  laughed,  and  asked  after  Calum  Eachern. 
Eiradh  told  him  her  troubles,  and  got  the  promise  of 
a  passage  to  Canna  that  day. 


\ 


EIllAJjll    or    CANNA.  187 

In  the  afternoon  it  l)lc\v  hard  from  the  cast,  but 
Eiradli  went  on  board  the  smack  with  lier  hist. 
They  ran  out  of  tlio  Sound  of  Mull  with  the  wind,  and 
kept  in  close  to  the  E,hu,  for  the  sake  of  smootli  water. 
Kiradh  felt  a  heavines;^  and  pain  about  her  heart,  and 
sat  on  the  kist  with  her  head  leanino;  aijainst  the  side 
of  the  boat.  She  had  a  touch  of  the  sea-sickness,  but 
that  passed  away. 

Alastair  steered  the  smack  on  Ihe  west  side  of  Eiir, 
and  the  squalls  came  so  sharp  off  the  Scaiir  that  they 
had  to  take  down  the  topsail.  As  they  sailed  in  the 
smooth  water  on  the  lee  side  of  Eig  Eiradh  asked 
about  the  Canna  folk  she  had  known,  and  most  of 
thetn  were  dead  and  buried.  Then  she  asked  about 
the  old  man  who  had  taught  her  to  read  and  write, 
and  he  was  dead  too.  Many  of  the  young  folk  had 
gone  away  across  the  ocean,  to  work  among  strangers 
and  wander  in  a  foreign  land. 

The  heart  of  Eiradh  sank  to  hear  the  news ;  for  she 
thought  to  herself,  "  Every  face  will  be  as  strange  as 
the  faces  in  the  south."  Then  Alastair,  seeing  she 
put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  said,  "  What  ails  ye,  wife  ? 
are  you  sick?"  Eiradh  nodded,  and  leant  her  head 
over  the  boat,  looking  at  the  sea. 

A  little  after  that  the  smack  rounded  the  north  end 
of  Rum,  and  Eiradh  saw  Canna  in  the  sea,  just  as 
she  had  left  it  Ions:  aa:o.     There  was  a  shower  all  over 

CD  " 

the  ocean,  but  the  green  side  of  Canna  was  shining 
with  the  light  through  a  cloud.  Eiradh  looked  and 
looked  ;  for  there  was  not  an  inch  of  the  green  land 
but  she  knew  by  heart. 

The  wind  blew  fresh  and  keen,  and  they  had  to 


1S8  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

lower  the  pealc  of  the  mainsail  running  for  the  har- 
bor. Eiradh  saw  the  tower,  all  gray  and  wet  in  the 
rain,  and  she  thought  she  heard  the  lady's  voice  call- 
ins:  as  in  old  times.  Then  she  looked  over  to  the 
month  of  Loch  Scavaig,  thinking  to  herself,  "  There 
is  the  place  where  my  brothers  were  lost !"  and  that 
brought  up  the  picture  of  her  father,  sitting  dead  on 
the  cliffs  and  looking  out  to  sea.  Eiradh's  eyes  were 
blind  with  tears,  and  she  could  not  see  Canna  any 
more ;  but  as  they  ran  round  into  the  bay,  her  eyes 
cleared,  and  she  saw  lier  home  close  by  the  water-side, 
with  the  roof  all  gone,  and  the  walls  broken  down,  and 
a  cow  looking  out  of  the  door. 

A  little  after  that,  when  the  anchor  was  down  and 
the  mainsail  lowered,  Alastair  touched  Eiradh  on  the 
arm,  thinking  she  was  asleep,  for  she  was  leaning  back 
with  her  face  in  her  cloak.  Then  he  drew  back  the 
cloak  and  saw  her  face  with  a  strange  smile  on  it,  and 
the  eyes  wide  open.  Though  he  was  a  big  man,  he 
was  scared,  and  called  out  to  his  mates,  and  an  old 
man  among  them  said,  "  Sure  enough  she  is  dead." 
So  they  carried  her  body  ashore  in  their  boat,  and  put 
it  in  one  of  the  houses,  and  sent  word  to  the  laird. 

Eiradh  Eachern  had  died  of  the  same  disease  that 
killed  her  mother.  She  had  o'er  many  thoughts  to 
live  long,  and  she  knew  the  name  of  trouble.  In  her 
kist  they  found  her  grave-clothes  all  ready  made  and 
neatly  worked  with  her  own  hands,  and  they  buried 
her  on  the  hill-side  close  to  her  father  and  mother. 
May  the  Lord  God  find  her  ready  there  to  answer  to 
her  name  at  the  Last  Day  I 


^IQHT    ON   TKE   MINCU.  181) 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NIGHT    ON    THE    MTNOH. 

Gloomy  Prophecies— TeiTora  of  the  llincb— The  Viking— Hamish  Shaw, 
the  Pilot—  Leaving  Cauna  Harbor — Pictures  of  Skye  and  the  Cuchul- 
lins — Remarks  on  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  his  Poems — Afloat  on  the  Minch 
^The  Far-off  Isles — Twilight — Ilamish  Shaw  at  the  Helm — Summer 
Night — Talk  about  Ghosts  and  Superstitions — The  Evil  Eye— The 
Death-Cry — Wiud  Rising — Wind  and  Mist— Water-Snakes— Midnight— 
The  Strange  Ship — Peep  o'  Day — The  Red  Buoy — Anchorage  in  Loch 
Boisdale. 

"  She  is  a  poor  thing,  a  bit  toy !  "  said  the  captain 
of  the  Lowland  trader,  regarding  the  Tern  from  the 
deck  of  his  big  vessel,  while  we  lay  in  Canna  harbor. 
"  She's  no'  for  these  seas  at  all ;  and  the  quicker  ye 
are  awa'  hame  wi'  her  round  the  Khu  ye'll  be  the 
wiser.     She  should  never  hae  quitted  the  Clyde." 

Set  by  the  side  of  the  trader's  great  hull,  she  cer- 
tainly looked  a  "  toy " — so  tiny,  so  slight,  with  her 
tapering  mast  and  slender  spars.  To  all  our  enumer- 
ation of  her  good  qualities,  the  captain  merely  replied 
an  incredulous  "  oomph,"  and  assured  us  that,  were 
she  as  "  good  as  gold,"  the  waters  of  the  Minch  would 
drown  her  like  a  rat,  if  there  was  any  wind  at  all. 
Few  yachts  of  twice  her  tonnage,  and  twice  her  beam, 
ever  dared  to  show  their  sails  on  tlie  outside  of  Skye, 
and  the  wiser  they,  tliought  the  captain.  Why, 
even  he,  in  his  great  vessel,  which  was  like  a  rock  in 


100  THE    LAND    OF    LOUISE. 

the  water,  had  seen  such  sights  out  there  as  had 
made  his  hair  stand  on  end  ;  and  he  launched  into  a 
series  of  awful  tales,  showing  how  he  had  driven 
from  the  point  of  Sleat  to  Isle  Omsaj,  "up  to  his 
neck  "  in  the  sea ;  how  a  squall  off  Dunvegan  Head 
liad  carried  away  his  topmast,  broken  liis  mainsail- 
boom,  and  swept  his  decks  clean  of  boats  and  rubbish, 
all  at  one  fell  crash ;  and  he  added  numberless  other 
terrific  things,  all  tending  to  show  that  we  were  like- 
ly to  get  into  trouble,  When  he  heard  that  we  actu- 
ally purposed  crossing  to  Boisdale,  and  beating  up 
along  the  shores  of  the  Long  Isles,  as  far  as  Storno- 
way,  he  set  us  down  as  madmen  at  once,  and  conde- 
scended to  no  more  advice.  After  that,  till  the  mo- 
ment we  sailed,  he  regarded  us  from  tlie  side  of  his 
vessel  in  a  solemn  sort  of  way,  as  if  we  were  people 
going  to  be  hung,  and  well  deserving  of  our  fate. 
Ton  see,  he  was  getting  gray  and  cautious — his  blood 
lacked  phosphorus,  his  heart  fire. 

He  frightened  us  a  little,  though.  The  Wanderer, 
wlio  had  planned  the  expedition,  looked  at  the  skipper, 
or  the  Viking,  as  we  got  into  the  habit  of  calling 
him,  because  he  wasn't  like  one.  The  Viking,  who 
had  never  before  ventured  with  a  yacht  beyond  the 
Clyde,  was  very  pale,  and  only  wanted  encourage- 
ment to  turn  tail  and  fly.  But  Ilamish  Shaw,  the 
pilot,  setting  his  lips  together,  delivered  himself  so 
violently  against  flight,  vowed  so  staunchly  that,  hav- 
ing come  thus  far,  we  must  proceed,  or  be  forever- 
more  branded  as  jjretenders,  and  finally  swore  round- 
ly by  his  reputation  as  a  seaman  to  carry  us  safely 
through  all  difiiculties,  that  even  the  Viking  shook 


NIGHT   ON   THE,  MINCH.  191 

his  liorrent  locks,  and  became,  for  tlie  instant,  nearly 
as  reckless  as  he  looked.  "  Nothinj?,"  said  the  Yikinir, 
in  a  glow  of  intense  ardor,  "  nothing  gives  me  so  much 
pleasure  as  tearing  through  the  sea,  with  the  wind 
blowing  half  a  gale,  and  the  boat's  side  buried  to  tlie 
cockpit-combing," 

We  had  all  great  confidence  in  Hamish  Shaw,  for 
two  very  good  reasons :  first,  because  he  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  sailing  all  sorts  of  boats  in  those 
waters;    and    second,   because    he   was    thoroughly 
plucky,  steady  as  a  rock,  and  cool  as  snow,  in  times 
of  peril.     Again  and  again,  during  the  voyage,  did 
we  find  reason  to  bless  ourselves  that  we  had  such  a 
man  on  board.     He  was  fond  of  talk,  and  had  much 
to  say  well  worth  listening  to,  but  at  critical  moments 
he  was  like  the  sphinx,  only  rather  more  active.     To 
sec  him  at  the  helm,  with  his  eye  on  the  water,  stead- 
ily helping  the  little  craft  through  a  tempestuous  sea, 
bringing  her  bow  up  to  the  billows,  and  burying  it  in 
them  whenever  they  would  have  drowned  her  broad- 
side, or   sliai'j)ly  watching   the   water   to  windward, 
with   the   great  mainsail-sheet  in  his  hand,  shaking 
her  through  the  squalls  oif  a  mountainous  coast — 
these  are  things  worth  seeing,  things  that  make  one 
proud  of  the  race.     As  for  the  Viking,  although  he 
had    considerable   experience   in    sailing  in   smooth 
water,  and  although  he  was  a  very  handy  fellow  in 
the  ship-carpenter's  line,  he  was  nowhere  when  it  be- 
gan to  blow.     The  Wanderer  could  do  a  little  in  an 
emergency,    but   his   nautical   knowledge   was   very 
slight,  just  enabling  him  to  distinguish  one  rope  from 
another,  if  he  was  not   particularly  hurried   in  his 


192  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

movements.  ITow,  the  cook  (as  you  have  guessed 
from  the  beginning)  was  a  lady,  and,  of  course,  could 
be  of  no  use  on  deck  in  bad  weather,  although,  as 
Hamish  Shaw  expressed  it,  she  showed  a  man's  spirit 
throughout  the  whole  voyage. 

In  plain  point  of  fact,  there  was  only  one  thorough- 
bred sailor  on  board,  only  one  man  thoroughly  com- 
petent to  act  on  his  own  responsibility  during  a  great 
emergency ;  and  as  he  had  only  one  pair  of  hands, 
and  could  not  be  everywhere  at  the  same  moment, 
'twas  a  miracle  that  the  Tern  escaped  destruction  on 
more  than  one  occasion.  But  (as  the  female  novel- 
ists used  to  say)  we  anticipate. 

As  the  distance  from  Canna  to  Loch  Boisdalo,  the 
nearest  pomt  in  the  outer  Hebrides,  was  about  thirty 
miles,  all  quite  open  water,  without  the  chance  of  any 
kind  of  harbor,  and  as  the  Tern^  even  with  a  fair 
wind,  could  not  be  expected  to  run  more  than  five  or 
six  miles  an  hour  in  a  sea,  it  was  advisable  to  choose 
a  good  day  for  the  passage.  As  usual  in  such  cases, 
we  began  by  being  over-cautious,  and  ended  by  being 
over-impatient.  This  day  was  too  calm,  that  day  was 
too  windy.  We  ended  by  doing  two  things  which  we 
had  begun  by  religiously  vowing  not  to  to  do — never 
to  start  for  a  long  passage  except  at  early  morning ; 
never  to  venture  on  such  a  passage  without  a  fair 
wind.  "We  weighed  anchor  at  about  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  with  the  wind  blowing  nothwest — 
nearly  dead  in  our  teeth. 

But  it  was  a  glorious  day,  sunny  and  cheerful ;  the 
clouds  were  high  and  white,  and  the  waters  were 
sparkling  and  flashing  far  as  the  eye  could  see.     The 


NIGHT   ON   THE   MINCH.  193 

little  Tern  seemed  to  catcli  the  f^lee.  Directly  the  wind 
touched  her  white  wings, she  slipped  through  the  har- 
bor with  rapid  flight,  plunged  splashing  out  at  the 
harbor  mouth,  and  was  soon  swimming  far  out  in  the 
midst  of  the  ocean,  happy,  eager,  tilting  the  waves 
from  her  breast  like  a  beautiful  swimmer  in  his 
strength.  Next  to  the  rapturous  enjoyment  of  having 
wings  one's  self,  or  being  able  to  sport  among  tlie  waves 
like  a  great  northern  diver,  is  the  pleasure  of  sailing, 
during  such  weather,  in  a  boat  like  the  Tern.  The 
blood  is  sparkling,  but  the  brain  is  at  work,  beating 
steady  as  a  pulse,  under  thoughts  that  come  and  go 
like  the  glimmer  of  foam  and  light. 

Canna  never  looked  more  beautiful  than  that  day — 
her  cliffs  were  wreathed  into  wondrous  forms  and 
tinctured  with  deep  ocean-dyes,  and  the  slopes  above 
were  rich  and  mellow  in  the  light.  Beyond  her  was 
Kum,  always  the  same,  a  dark  beauty  with  a  gentle 
heart.  But  what  most  fascinated  the  eye  was  the 
southern  coast  of  Skye,  lying  ou  the  starboard  bow 
as  we  were  beatinj;  northward.  The  Isle  of  Misf*^ 
was  clear  on  that  occasion,  not  a  vapor  lingering  on 
the  heights,  and  although  it  must  be  admitted  that 
much  of  its  strange  and  eerie  beauty  was  lost,  still 
we  had  a  certain  gentle  loveliness  to  supply  its  place. 
Could  that  be  Skye,  the  deep  coast  full  of  rich,  warm 
under-shadow,  the  softly-tinted  hills,  "  nakedly  visible, 
Avithout  a  cloud,"  sleeping  against  the  "  dim,  sweet 
harebell-color"   of    the     heavens?     Where    was   the 

*  This  name  is  purely  Scandinavian — Sky  signifying  "  cloud ;" 
■wlience,  too,  our  own  word  "  sky,"  the  under,  or  vapor,  heaven- 
9 


104  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

thunder-cloud,  tlie  weeping  shadows  of  the  cirrus,  the 
white  flashes  of  cataracts  through  the  black  smoke  of 
rain  on  the  mountain-side?  Were  those  the  Cuchul- 
lins — the  ashen-gray  heights  turning  to  solid  amber 
at  the  peaks,  with  the  dry  seams  of  torrents  softening 
in  the  sunliglit  to  golden  shades  ?  Why,  Blaven, 
witli  its  hooked  forehead,  would  have  been  bare  as 
Primrose  Hill,  save  for  one  sliglit  white  wreath  of  va- 
por that,  glittering  with  the  hues  of  the  prism,  float- 
ed gently  away  to  die  in  the  delicate  blue.  Dark 
were  the  headlands,  yet  warmly  dark,  projecting  into 
the  sparkling  sea  and  casting  summer  shades.  Skye 
was  indeed  transformed,  yet  its  beauty  still  remained 
spiritual,  still  it  kept  the  faint  feeling  of  the  glamour. 
It  looked  like  witch-beauty,  wondrous  and  unreal. 
You  felt  that  an  instant  might  change  it — and  so  it 
might  and  did.  Ere  we  had  sailed  many  miles  away, 
Skye  was  clouded  over  with  a  misty  woe,  her  face 
was  black  and  wild,  she  sobbed  in  the  midst  of  the 
darkness  with  the  voice  of  falling  rain  and  moaning 
winds. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  his  notes  made  during  a  High- 
land tour,  describes  this  western  coast  of  Skye  as 
"  highly  romantic,  and  at  the  same  time  displaying  a 
richness  of  vegetation  in  the  lower  ground  to  which  we 
have  hitherto  been  strangers  ;"  adding,  "  We  passed 
three  salt-water  lochs,  or   deep  embayments,  called 

Loch  Bracadale,   Loch  Einort,  and  Loch  ,  and 

about  eleven  o'clock  opened  up  Loch  Scavaig.  We 
were  now  mider  the  western  termination  of  the  high 
range  of  mountains  called  Guillen,  or  Quillin  or 
Ooolin,  whose  weather-beaten  and  serrated  peaks  we 


NIGHT   ON  THE   MINCII.  li»3 

luui  admired  at  a  distance  from  Dunvogan.  They 
sank  hero  npon  the  sea,  but  with  the  same  bold  and 
peremptory  aspect  which  their  distant  appearance 
Indicated.  The  tops  of  the  ridge,  apparently  inacces- 
sible to  human  foot,  were  rent  and  split  into  the  most 
tremendous  pinnacles.  Toward  the  base  of  these 
bare  and  precipitous  crags,  the  ground,  enriched  by 
the  soil  washed  down  from  them,  is  comparatively 
verdant  and  productive."  And  he  goes  on,  in  the 
same  gazetteer  style,  to  describe  Loch  Scavaig  and 
Loch  Corruisk,  just  as  if  he  were  Brown  or  Robinson, 
and  not  the  second  name  in  the  great  roll  of  glorious 
creators.  Nor  is  he  much  more  felicitous  in  his  treat- 
ment of  the  same  theme  in  verse.  This  is  his  poetic 
description  of  Loch  Corruisk,  and  it  is  quoted  with 
enthusiasm  in  every  guide-book  : 


"  Awhile  tlieir  route  they  silent  made. 

As  lucu  who  stalk  for  mountain-deer, 
Till  the  g(X)d  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

'  St.  Mary  !  what  a  scene  is  here  I 
I've  traversed  many  a  mountain-strand, 
Abroad,  and  in  my  native  land. 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Where  safety  more  than  pleasure  led. 
Thus,  many  a  waste  I've  wandered  o'er, 
Clomb  many  a  crag,  crossed  many  a  moor. 

But,  by  my  halidome, 
A  Bcene  bo  rude,  so  wild  as  this, 
Yet  so  sublime  in  barrenness, 
Ne'er  did  my  wandering  footsteps  press 

Where'er  I  happ'd  to  roam.' 


196  THE   LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

XIV. 

"  Xo  marvel  thus  the  Monarch  spake  ; 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  that  dread  hike, 

Witli  its  dark  ledge  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  strange  and  shattered  way 

Through  the  rude  bosom  of  the  hill, 
And  that  each  naked  precipice, 
Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss. 

Tells  of  the  outrage  still. 
The  wildest  glen,  but  this,  can  show 
Some  touch  of  Nature's  genial  glow  ; 
On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  grow. 
And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencoo, 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben  ; 
But  here — above,  around,  below, 

On  mountain  or  in  glen — 
Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower. 
Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power, 

The  weary  eye  may  ken. 
For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown, 
Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone. 

As  if  were  here  denied 
The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew. 
That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

The  bleakest  mountain-side. 


XV. 

'  And  wilder,  forward  as  they  wound. 
Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound. 
Huge  terraces  of  granite  black 
Afforded  rude  and  cumbered  track  ; 

For  from  the  mountain  hoar. 
Hurled  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear, 
When  yelled  the  wolf,  and  fled  the  doer. 

Loose  crags  had  toppkid  o'er  ; 


MIGHT    O^    TJIE    MINCJl.  li>7 

And  RonK",  chanco-poiscd  and  balanced,  lay 
So  that  a  Btrii^lin^  arm  niij^ht  sway 

A  mass  no  liost  could  raise, 
In  Nature's  range  at  random  thrown, 
Yet  trembling  like  the  Druid's  stone 

On  its  i)recarious  base. 
The  evening  mists,  with  ceaseless  change, 
Now  clothed  the  mountains'  lofty  range. 

Now  left  their  foreheads  l)are, 
And  round  the  skirts  their  mantle  furled. 
Or  on  the  sable  waters  curled, 
Or  on  the  eddying  breezes  whirled, 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 
And  oft,  condensed,  at  once  they  lower. 
When,  brief  and  fierce,  the  mountain  shower 

Pours  like  a  torrent  down  ; 
And  when  return  the  sun's  glad  beams. 
Whitened  with  foam  a  thousand  streams 

Leap  from  the  mountain's  crown." 

Bmcc  might  sv/ear  himself  lioarse  "  by  his  hali- 
dome"  crc  we  could  admit  that  the  above  was  mucli 
more  than  the  dryest  verbiage.  Yet  the  general  fea- 
tures of  the  landscape  are  caught  as  in  a  photograph, 
with  a  bald  fidelity  which  is  characterestic  of  all  Sir 
AValter's  efforts  in  verse,  and  is  noteworthy  as  having 
won  for  itself  the  special  praise  of  Mr.  Ruskin.  "We 
shall  have  something  to  say  of  Corruisk  in  good  time, 
and  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  deny  that  "Walter  Scott 
felt  the  spirit  of  the  wild  scenes  at  all — so  totally  out 
of  harmony  with  nature  is  his  verbose  enumeration  of 
details.  Sliakspeare,  with  his  faultless  vision,  would 
not  have  failed  to  see  Con'uisk  as  it  is,  and  to  picture 
it  in  true  emotional  colors,  but  perhaps  only  Shelley, 
of  all  our  poets,  could  have  felt  it  to  the  true  spiritual 
height  and  blended  it  into  music,  thought,  and  dream. 


108  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

AVith  the  same  felicity  in  prose  and  verse,  Sir  "Wal- 
ter, in  the  already-quoted  extract  from  his  journal, 
talks  of  the  Coolins  having  a  ^^ peremptory  aspect^ 
which  their  distant  appearance  indicated  "  (\vc  cannot 
construe  this  sentence),  and  in  an  easy,  general  way, 
speaks  of  the  scenery  of  the  neighborhood  as  "  highly 
romantic."  Is  "peremptory,"  then,  the  adjective  to 
apply  to  yonder  peaks  ?  Do  the  ghost-world,  the 
strange  dreams  we  have  in  sleep,  the  creeping  thoughts 
we  have  in  death-chambers,  the  whisperings  we  liave 
from  that  "  undiscovered  country  " — do  all  these 
things,  any  of  these  things,  strike  us  as  being  "  per- 
emptory V  There  is  a  perkish,  commonplace,  preten- 
tious air  about  that  word,  as  applied  to  beautiful 
mountains.  Like  that  other  word,  "  romantic,"  it 
should  be  cut  out  of  the  poetic  vocabulary.  The  bea- 
dle is  "  peremptory,"  and  the  sensation  scenes  at  met- 
ropolitan theaters  are  "  highly  romantic." 

AVe  were  flying  along  quickly,  and  the  breeze  was 
heading  us  less  and  less.  The  sea  still  sparkled,  far 
as  the  eye  could  see,  a  flashing  surface — 

"  Dappled  o'er  with  shadows  flung 
From  many  a  brooding  cloud  ;" 

the  wool-white  cloud  above,  the  soft  shadow  below. 
There  was  no  danger,  and  the  Viking  was  like  a  lion. 
All  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell.  Picture  after 
picture  rose  up,  grew  into  perfect  loveliness,  and  faded 
like  a  fairy  palace  into  the  air.  Now  it  was  Mac- 
Icod's  Maidens,  the  three  sister  peaks  on  the  western 
coast  of  Skye,  linked  together  by  a  dim  rainbow,  and 
glimmering  brightly  through  a  momentary  shower; 


NIGHT   ON   TIIK    MINCIl.  1^9 

again,  it  was  the  far-oiTmoiitli  of  Loch  Bracndalc,  rich 
in  the  darkest  purple  tints,  with  a  real  red-sailed  fish- 
ing-hoat  in  the  foreground,  to  bring  out  the  picture, 
just  as  Turner  would  have  placed  it  on  the  canvas ; 
and  still  again,  it  was  the  ('uchullins,  already  wreathed 
in  mist,  magnified  to  still  more  gigantic  size  by  their 
own  darkness,  and  looking  as  forlorn  as  if  no  sunlight 
had  ever  fallen  on  their  livid  brows. 

But  more  frequently,  with  keener  interest,  witli 
more  anxious  longing,  our  eyes  were  turned  west- 
ward— to  the  far-off  isles  whither  we  were  bound. 
We  could  see  them  better  now,  misted  over  by  dis- 
tance— part  of  the  Barra  highland,  the  three  great 
hills  of  Uist,  and,  dimmest  of  all,  the  high  hills  of 
Harris.  As  the  vapors  shifted  on  the  coast,  the  shape 
of  the  land  changed ;  what  liad  looked  like  moun- 
tains, drifted  awav  before  the  wind ;  what  had  seemed 
a  cloud,  outlined  itself  darkly  and  more  darkly  ;  and, 
strange  to  say,  the  whole  coast  seemed,  as  we  drew 
nearer,  to  retreat  itself  farther  away,  insomuch  that 
when  we  had  beaten  ten  or  twelve  miles  of  the  actual 
distance  to  Loch  Boisdale,  the  outer  Hebrides  looked 
as  distant  as  ever,  and  we  almost  thought  there  must 
have  been  some  mistake  in  our  calculation  of  the  num- 
ber of  miles  across. 

It  was  a  strange  feeling — riding  out  there  in  the 
open  Minch  in  that  little  boat,  and  knovring  that  a 
storm,  if  it  did  catch  us,  would  leave  us  little  time  to 
say  our  prayers.  The  vessel  was  too  small  and  crank 
to  "  lie  to,"  and,  running  before  the  wind,  she  would 
have  drowned  herself  in  no  time.  True,  we  had  ex- 
temporized a  kind  of  wooden  scuttle  for  the  cockpit, 


200  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

v/liicli  inight  be  of  service  in  a  sea,  and  did  actually 
save  us  from  some  peril ;  but  the  boat,  as  llamish 
Shaw  expressed  it,  wanted  "  body,"  and  would  never 
live  out  bad  weather  in  the  open.  It  was  a  wonder 
llamish  ever  accompanied  us  at  all,  he  had  such  pro- 
found contempt  for  the  Tem^  quite  agreeing  with  the 
skipper  in  Canna  that  she  was  merely  a  toy,  a  play- 
thing. "We  suppose,  however,  that  he  had  confidence 
in  himself,  and  knew  that  if  any  one  could  save  her 
at  a  pinch,  he  could, 

AVe  had  started  so  late,  that  before  we  were  half- 
way across  it  was  growing  quite  dark.  It  promised 
to  be  a  good  night,  however.  The  worst  of  our  situa- 
tion just  then  was  that  the  wind  was  beginning  to 
fail,  and  we  were  making  very  little  way  through  the 
rouffh  roll  of  the  sea. 

One  certainly  did  not  feel  comfortable,  tumbling 
out  there  in  the  deepening  twilii;;ht,  while  the  land  on 
either  side  slowly  mingled  itself  with  the  clouds. 
After  taking  our  bearings  by  the  compass,  and  getting 
a  drop  of  something  warm,  we  could  do  nothing  but 
eit  and  wait  for  events.  The  Yiking  was  beginning 
to  feel  unwell.  Shivering,  he  looked  to  windward, 
seeing  all  sorts  of  nameless  horrors.  Twenty  times,  at 
least,  he  asked  llamish  what  kind  of  a  night  it  prom- 
ised to  be.  Twice  he  rushed  down  to  examine  the 
weather-glass,  an  aneroid,  and,  to  his  horror,  it  was 
slowly  sinking.  Then  he  got  lights,  and  buried  him- 
self among  the  charts,  feebly  gazing  at  a  blank  space 
01  paper  labeled,  "  The  Minch."  At  last,  unable  to 
disguise  it  any  longer,  he  began  to  throw  out  dark 
hints  that  we  were  doomed  ;  that  it  was  madness  sail- 


NIGHT    ON    THE    MlNClI.  '-^01 

ing  at  night  j  that  he  had  seen  it  from  the  beginning, 
and  sliouhl  not  have  ventured  so  far ;  tliat  ho  knew 
from  the  color  of  the  sky  that  we  sliould  have  a  storm 
that  night;  and  that,  only  let  him  get  safe  back 
'round  the  Ehu,"  no  temptation  on  earth  should 
'hire  him  again  beyond  the  Crinan  Canal. 

But  Hamish  Shaw  was  in  his  glory.  lie  loved 
Bailing  at  night,  and  had  been  constantly  nrging  us 
into  it.  He  had  learned  the  habit  as  a  fisherman — it 
was  associated  with  much  that  was  wildest  and  noblest 
in  his  life — and  he  was  firmly  persuaded  that  he  could 
see  his  way  anywhere  in  the  waters,  by  night  as  well 
as  by  day.  Owl-like,  wakeful  and  vigilant,  he  sat  at 
the  helm,  with  his  weather-beaten  face  looming 
through  his  matted  ringlets,  his  black  pipe  set  be- 
tween his  teeth,  and  his  eye  looking  keenly  to  wind- 
ward. He  was  not  a  sentimental  man ;  he  did  not 
care  nmch  for  "  scenery  ;"  but  do  you  think  there  was 
no  dreamy  poetry  in  his  soul,  that  he  had  no  subtle 
pleasure,  concealed  almost  from  himself,  as  the  heaven 
bared  its  glittering  breast  of  .stars,  and  the  water  that 
darkened  beneath  reflected  back  the  light,  and  the 
wind  fell  softly,  till  we  could  hear  the  deep  breathing- 
of  the  sea  itself?  What  memories  drifted  across  his 
brain  ! — of  wild  nights  at  the  herring-fishing,  of  rain, 
Bnow,  and  wind,  and  of  tender  niglits  in  his  Highland 
home,  when  he  went  courting,  in  Highland  fashion,  to 
the  lassie's  chamber-door !  He  is  a  strange  study, 
Hamish  Shaw.  To  hear  him  speak  directly  of  any 
scene  he  has  visited,  you  would  not  credit  him  with 
any  insight.     But  he  sees  more  than  he  knows.     His 

life  is  too  full  to  take  in  separate  effects,  or  to  wonder 
9* 


202  THE    LAND    OF   LOllNE. 

anew.  "What  light  he  throws  for  us  on  old  thoughts 
and  stipei-stitions,  on  tender  affections  of  the  race ! 
His  speech  is  full  of  water  and  wind.  lie  uses  a  fine 
phrase  as'  easily  as  nature  fashions  a  bud  or  a  leaf. 
He  speaks  in  natural  symbols,  as  freely  as  he  uses  an 
oar.  His  clear,  fresh  vision  penetrates  even  into  the 
moral  world,  quite  open  and  fearless  even  there,  where 
the  best  of  us  become  purblind. 

"We  have  tried  again  and  again,  for  our  own 
amusement,  to  reproduce  a  few  specimens  of  Shaw's 
English.  He  is  a  true  Gael,  and  speaks  a  foreign 
tongue,  acquired  in  early  youth.  His  language  is  at 
once  remarkable  for  its  obscurity  and  the  frequent  use 
of  big  words,  and  yet  for  a  strange  felicity  of  verbal 
touch.  He  attaches  a  certain  meaning  of  his  own  to 
words,  and  tries  hard  to  be  explicit.  For  example, 
speaking  once  of  the  Gaelic  speech,  and  becoming 
warm  in  its  praise,  "  The  Gaelic,"  he  said,  "  is  a  kind 
of  guttural  language,  a  principal  and  positive  lan- 
guage ;  a  language,  d'ye  see  ?  full  of  himoledge  and 
essoice.^^  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  anything  ob- 
scurer than  the  beginning  of  the  explanation,  or  more 
felicitous  than  its  conclusion.  The  one  word  "es- 
sence "  is  perfect  in  its  terse  expression  of  meaning. 

"  I'm  of  the  opinion,"  said  llamish,  quietly  survey- 
ing the  heavens,  "  that  the  night  will  be  good.  Yen's 
a  clear  sky  to  windward,  and  there's  nae  carry.  I 
would  a  heap  sooner  sail  a  craft  like  this  by  night  than 
by  day — the  weather  is  more  settled  between  gloam- 
ing and  sunrise;  and  ye  have  one  great  advantage — 
the  light  is  aye  gaining  on  ye,  instead  o'  the  dark- 
ness." 


NIGHT    ON    THE    MINCH.  ^03 

"  J3ut,  Shaw,  man,"  cried  the  Viking,  "  we  arc 
creeping  closer  and  closer  to  the  land,  and  it  will  be 
a  fearful  businesa  making  it  out  in  the  mirk." 

Shaw  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  If  we  canna  see  it,  we  maun  just  smell  it,"  ho 
said.     "It's  useless  to  fash  your  head." 

"  A  coast  sown  with  rocks  as  thick  as  if  they  had 
been  shaken  out  of  a  pepper-box  1  Reefs  here,  dan- 
ger everywhere !  And  not  a  beacon  nearer  than  Illui 
Ilunish  lighthouse  !     O  my  God  !  " 

And  the  Viking  wailed. 

By  this  time  the  summer  night  had  quite  closed  in  ; 
Canna  and  Skye  had  long  faded  out  of  sight  behind 
us,  but  we  could  still  make  out  the  form  of  the  land 
ahead.  The  wind  was  rising  again,  and  blowing 
gently  on  our  quarter,  so  that  we  bade  fair  to  make 
the  coast  of  the  Long  Island  sooner  than  was  advisa- 
ble. Still,  it  would  have  been  injudicious  to  remain 
longer  than  was  necessary  out  in  the  open ;  for  a 
storm  might  come  on  by  morning,  and  our  fate  bo 
sealed.  The  best  plan  was  to  creep  to  within  a  couple 
of  miles  of  the  land,  and  hang  about  until  we  had 
sufficient  daylight  to  make  out  our  situation.  It  was 
even  possible,  if  it  did  not  get  much  darker,  that  wo 
might  even  be  able  to  distinguish  the  mouth  of  Loch 
Boisdale  in  the  night. 

The  Viking  plunged  below  to  the  charts,  and,  to 
while  away  the  time,  the  Wanderer  began  talking  to 
the  steereman  about  superstition.  It  was  a  fine  eerie 
situation  for  a  talk  on  that  subject,  and  the  still  sum- 
mer night,  with  the  deep,  dreary  murmur  of  the  sea, 
powerfully  stimulated  the  imagination. 


204  THE   LAND   OF   LOBNE. 

"I   say,  ITamisli,"   said   the  Wanderer,    abruptly, 
" do  you  believe  in  ghosts? " 

Ilamish  puffed  his  pipe  leisurely  for  some  time  be- 
fore replying, 

"I'm  of  the  opinion,"  he  replied  at  last,  beginning 
with  the  expression  habitual  to  him,  "I'm  of  the 
opinion  that  there's  strange  things  in  the  world.  I 
never  saw  a  ghost,  and  I  don't  expect  to  see  one.  If 
the  Scripture  says  true — I  mean  the  Scripture,  no' 
the  ministers — there  has  been  ghosts  seen  before  my 
time,  and  there  may  be  some  seen  now.  The  folk 
used  to  say  there  was  a  Ben-sheein  Skipness  Castle — 
a  Ben-shee  with  white  hair  and  a  mutch  like  an  old 
wife — and  my  father  saw  it  with  his  own  een  before 
he  died.  They're  curious  people  over  in  Barra,  and 
they  believe  stranger  things  than  that." 

"  In  witchcraft,  perhaps  ? " 

"  There's  more  than  them  believes  in  witchcraft. 
When  I  was  a  young  man  on  board  the  Petrel  (she's 
one  of  Middleton's  fish-boats,  and  is  over  at  Ilowth 
now),  the  winds  were  that  wild  there  seemed  sma* 
chance  of  winning  liame  before  the  new  year.  Weel, 
the  skipper  was  a  Skye  man,  and  had  great  faith  in  an 
auld  wife  who  lived  alone  up  on  the  hillside ;  and 
without  speaking  a  word  to  any  o'  us,  he  went  up  to 
bid  wi'  her  for  a  fair  wind.  He  crossed  her  hand  wP 
siller,  and  she  told  him  to  bury  a  live  cat  wi'  its  head 
to  the  airt  wanted,  and  then  to  steal  a  spoon  from 
some  house  and  get  awa'.  He  buried  the  cat,  and 
he  stole  the  spoon.  It's  curious,  but,  sure  as  ye 
live,  the  wind  changed  that  night  into  the  northwest, 
and  never  shifted  till  the  Petrel  was  in  Tobermory.'' 


KIGllT   ON    THE   MINCH.  206 

"Once  lot  me  be  llio  hero  of  an  affair  like  that," 
cried  tlic  Wanderer,  "  and  I'll  believed  in  the  devil  for- 
ever after.     But  it  was  a  queer  process." 

"  The  ways  o'  God  are  droll,"  returned  Shaw,  seri- 
ously. "  Some  say  that  in  old  times  the  witches  made 
a  cause  wav  o'  whales  from  E,liu  llunisli  to  Dun  vegan 
Head,  There  are  auld  wives  o'er  yonder  yet  who 
hae  the  name  of  going  out  with  the  Deil  every  night 
in  the  shape  o'  blue  hares,  and  I  kenned  a  man  who 
thouo-ht  he  shot  one  wi'  a  siller  button.  I  dinna  be- 
lieve  all  I  hear,  but  I  dinna  just  disbelieve,  either. 
Ye'vo  heard  o'  the  Evil  Eye  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  When  we  were  in  Canna,  1  noticed  a  fine  cow  and 
calf  standing  by  a  house  near  the  kirkyard,  and  I  said 
to  the  wife  as  I  passed  (she  was  syning  her  pails  at 
the  door)  :  '  Yon's  a  bonnie  bit  calf  ye  hae  witlv  the 
auld  cow.'  '  Aye,'  said  she,  '  but  I  hope  ye  dinna 
look  at  them  o'er  keen ' — meaning,  yo  ken,  that  may- 
be I  had  the  Evil  Eye.  I  laughed,  and  told  her  that 
was  a  thin.fi  that  ne'er  belong't  to  me  or  mine.  That 
minds  me  of  an  auld  wife  near  Loch  Boisdale  who  had 
a  terrible  bad  name  for  killing  kye  and  doing  mischief 
on  corn.  She  was  gleed,"  and  had  black  hair.  One 
day,  when  the  folk  were  in  kirk,  she  reached  o'er  her 
hand  to  a  bairn  that  was  lying  beside  her,  and  touched 
its  cheek  wi'  her  finger.  Weel,  that  moment  the 
bairn  (it  was  a  lassie,  and  had  red  hair)  began  greet- 
ing, and  turning  its  head  from  side  to  side,  like  folk 
in  fever.     It  kept  on  sae  for  days.     But  at  last  auither 

*  She  equinted. 


206  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

woman,  who  saw  what  was  wrang,  recommended 
eight  poultices  o'  kyedung  (one  every  night)  from  the 
innermost  kye  i'  the  byre.  They  gied  licr  the  poul- 
tices, and  the  lassie  got  weel." 

"  That  was  as  strange  a  remedy  as  the  buried  cat," 
observed  the  Wanderer ;  "  but  I  did  not  know  such 
people  possessed  the  power  of  casting  the  trouble  on 
human  beings." 

Haniish  puffed  his  pipe,  and  looked  quietly  at  the 
sky.     It  was  some  minutes  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  There  was  a  witch  family,"  he  said  at  last,  "  in 
Loch  Carron,  where  I  was  born  and  reared.  They 
lived  their  lane,*  close  to  the  sea.  There  were  three 
o'  them — the  mither,  a  son,  and  a  daughter.  The 
mither  had  great  lumps  all  o'er  her  arms,  and  sae  had 
the  daughter  ;  but  the  son  was  a  clean-hided  lad,  and 
he  was  the  cleverest.  Folk  said  he  had  the  power  o' 
healing  the  sick,  but  only  in  ae  way,  by  transferring 
the  disease  to  him  that  brought  the  message  seeking 
help.  Once,  I  mind,  a  man  was  sent  till  him  on 
horseback,  bidding  him  come  and  heal  a  fisher  who 
was  up  on  the  hill  and  like  to  dee.  The  warlock 
mounted  his  pony,  and  said  to  the  man,  '  Draw  back 
a  bit,  and  let  me  ride  before  ye.'  The  man,  kenning 
nae  better,  let  him  pass,  and  followed  ahint.  TJiey 
had  to  pass  through  a  glen,  and  in  the  middle  o'  the 
glen  an  auld  wife  was  standing  at  her  door.  AVhcn 
she  saw  the  messenger  riding  ahint  the  warlock,  she 
screeched  out  to  him  as  loud  as  she  could  cry — '  Ride, 
ride,  and  reach  the  sick  lad  first,  or  ye're  a  dead  man,' 

*  Their  lane — alone. 


IflGIIT    UN    THE    MINCn.  207 

At  that  the  warlock  looked  black  as  thunder,  and 
<i^alloped  his  pony ;  but  the  messenger  being  better 
mounted,  o'ertook  hiui  fust,  and  got  first  to  tlie  sick 
man's  bedside.  In  the  niglit  the  sick  man  died.  Ye 
see,  the  warlock  had  nae  power  of  shifting  the  com- 
plaint but  on  hira  that  brought  the  message,  and  no' 
on  him,  if  the  warlock  didna  reach  the  house  before 
the  messenjjer." 

Here  the  Viking  emerged  with  the  whisky-bottle, 
and  Hamish  Shaw  wet  his  lips.  We  were  gliding 
gently  along  now,  and  the  hills  of  Uist  were  still 
dimly  visible.  The  deep  roll  of  the  sea  would  have 
been  disagreeable,  perhaps,  to  the  uninitiated,  but  we 
were  hardened.  While  the  Yiking  sat  by,  gazing 
gloomily  into  the  darkness,  the  Wanderer  pursued 
his  chat  with  Shaw,  or,  rather,  incited  the  latter  to 
further  soliloquies, 

"  Do  you  know,  Hamish,"  he  said,  slyly,  "  it 
seems  to  me  very  queer  that  Providence  should  suf- 
fer such  pranks  to  be  played,  and  should  entrust 
that  marvelous  power  to  such  wretched  hands. 
Come,  now,  do  you  actually  fancy  these  things  have 
happened  V 

But  Hamish  Shaw  was  not  the  man  to  commit  him- 
self.    He  was  a  philosopher. 

"  I'm  of  the  opinion,"  he  replied,  "  that  it  would 
be  wrong  to  be  o'er  positive.  Providence  docs  as 
queer  things,  whiles,"^  as  either  man  or  woman.  There 
was  a  strange  cry,  like  the  wdiistle  of  a  bird,  heard 
every  night  close  to  the  cottage  before  Wattie  Mac- 

*  At  times. 


208  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

Icod's  smack  was  lost  on  St.  Jolin's  Point,  and  Wattie 
and  liis  son  drowned;  then  it  stoppit.  Whiles  it 
comes  like  a  sheep  crying,  whiles  like  the  sound  o' 
pipes.  I  heard  it  mysel'  when  my  brither  Angus  died, 
lie  had  been  awa'  o'er  the  country,  and  his  horse  had 
fallen  and  kickit  him  on  the  navel.  But  before  we 
heard  a  word  about  it,  the  wife  and  I  were  on  the 
road  to  Angus'  house,  and  were  coming  near  the 
burn  that  parted  his  house  from  mine.  It  was  night, 
and  bright  moonlight.  The  wife  was  heavy  at  the 
time,  and  suddenly  she  grippit  me  by  the  arm,  and 
whispered, 'Wheesht !  do  ye  hear?'  I  listened,  and 
at  first  heard  nothing.  'Wheesht,  again!'  says 
she  ;  and  then  I  heard  it  plain — like  the  low  blowing 
o'  the  bagpipes,  slowly  and  sadly,  wi'  nae  tune.  '  O 
Ilamish,'  said  the  wife,  '  wha  can  it  be  ?'  I  said  nae- 
thing,  but  I  felt  my  back  all  cold,  and  a  sharp  thread 
running  through  my  heart.  It  followed  us  along  as 
far  as  Angus'  door,  and  then  it  went  awa'.  Angus 
was  sitting  by  the  fire ;  they  had  just  brought  him 
hame,  and  he  told  us  o'  the  fall  and  the  kick.  lie 
was  pale,  but  didna  think  much  was  wrang  wi'  him, 
and  talked  quite  cheerful  and  loud.  The  wife  was 
Bick  and  frighted,  and  they  gave  her  a  dram  ;  they 
thought  it  was  her  trouble,  for  her  time  was  near, 
but  she  was  thinking  o'  the  sign.  Though  we  knew 
fine  that  Angus  wouldna  live,  we  didna  dare  to  speak 
o'  what  we  had  heard.  Going  hame  that  nicht,  we 
heard  it  again,  and  in  a  week  he  was  lying  in  hia 
grave." 

The  darkness,  the  hushed  breathing  of  the  sea,  the 
BOugh  of  the  wind  through  the  ngging,  greatly  deej)- 


NIGHT   ON    THE   MINCII.  209 

ened  the  effect  of  this  tale;  and  the  Yiking  listened 
intently,  as  if  he  expected  every  moment  to  hear 
a  similar  Bound  presaging  his  own  doom,  Ilamisli 
Shaw  showed  no  emotion,  lie  told  his  talc  as  mere 
raatter-of-fact,  with  no  elocutionary  effects,  and  kept 
his  eye  to  windward  all  the  time,  evidently  looking 
out  for  squalls. 

"For  God's  sake,"  cried  the  Yiking,  "choose  some 
other  subject  of  conversation.  We  are  in  bad 
enough  plight  already,  and  don't  want  any  more 
liorrors." 

"  What !  afraid  of  ghosts  ?" 

"No,  dash  it!"  returned  the  Yiking  ;  "but — but — 
as  sure  as  I  live,  there  is  storm  in  yon  sky !" 

The  look  of  the  sky  to  windward  was  certainly  not 
improving ;  it  was  becoming  smoked  over  with  thick 
mist.  Though  we  were  now  only  a  few  miles  off  the 
Uist  coast,  the  loom  of  the  land  was  scarcely  visible  ; 
the  vapors  peculiar  to  such  coasts  seemed  rising  and 
gradually  wrapping  everything  In  their  folds.  Still,  as 
fa]'  as  we  could  make  out  from  tiie  stars,  there  was  no 
carry  in  the  sky. 

"  I'll  no'  say,"  observed  Hamish,  taking  in  every- 
thing at  a  glance — "  I'll  no  say  but  there  may  be  wind 
ere  morning ;  but  it  will  be  wind  off  the  shore,  and  we 
hae  the  hills  for  shelter." 

"  But  the  squalls  !  the  squalls  !"  cried  the  Yiking. 

"  The  land  is  no'  so  high  that  ye  need  to  be 
scared.  Leave  you  the  vessel  to  me,  and  I'll  take  her 
through  it  snug.  But  we  may  as  weel  hae  the  third 
reef  in  the  mainsail,  and  mak'  things  ready  in  case  o' 
need." 


210  TUE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

This  was  soon  done.  The  mainsail  was  reefed,  and 
the  small  jib  substituted  for  the  large  one  ;  and  after 
a  glance  at  the  compass,  Ilamish  again  sat  quiet  at 
the  liclm 

"  Earra,"  he  said,  renewing  our  late  subject  of 
talk,  "  is  a  great  place  for  superstition,  and  sac  is 
Uist.  The  folk  are  like  weans,  simple  and  kindly. 
There  is  a  Ben-shee  weel  known  at  the  head  o'  Loch 
Eynort,  and  anither  haunts  one  o'  the  auld  castles  o* 
the  great  Macneil  o'  Barra.  I  hae  heard,  too,  that 
whiles  big  snakes,  wi'  manes  like  hoi'ses,  come  up  into 
the  fresh- water  lakes  and  lie  in  wait  to  devour  the 
flesh  o'  man.  In  a  fresh-water  loch  at  the  Harris 
there  was  a  big  beast  like  a  bull,  that  came  up  ae 
day  and  ate  half  the  body  o'  a  lad  when  he  was 
bathing.  They  tried  to  drain  the  loch  to  get  at  the 
beast,  but  there  was  o'er  muckle  water.  Then  they 
baited  a  great  hook  wi'  the  half  o'  a  sheep,  but  the 
beast  was  o'er  wise  to  bite.  Lord,  it  was  a  droll 
fishing !  They're  a  curious  people.  But  do  ye  no' 
think,  if  the  seas  and  the  lochs  were  drainit  dry, 
there  would  be  all  manner  o'  strange  animals  that 
nae  man  kens  the  name  o'  ?  There's  a  kind  o' 
water-world — nae  man  kens  what  it's  lilce — for  the 
drown'd  canna  see,  and  if  they  could  see,  they 
couldna  speak.  Ay  !''  he  added,  suddenly  changing 
the  current  of  his  thoughts,  "  ay  !  the  wind's  rising, 
and  we're  no  far  off  the  shore,  for  I  can  smell  the 
land." 

By  what  keenness  of  sense  Ilamish  managed  to 
"  smell  the  land  "  we  had  no  time  just  then  to  inquire, 
for  all  our  wits  were  employed  in  looking  after  tho 


NIGHT    ON    THE    MINCH.  211 

safoty  of  the  Tern.  She  was  bowling  along  under 
three-reefed  mainsail  and  stormjib,  and  was  getting 
just  about  as  much  as  she  could  bear.  With  the  rail 
under  to  the  cockpit,  the  water  lapping  heavily 
against  the  cooming,  and  ever  and  anon  splashing 
right  over  in  the  cockpit  itself,  she  made  her  way  fast 
tlirough  the  rising  sea.  In  vain  we  strained  our  eyes 
to  discern  the  shore — 

"  The  blinding  mist  came  down  and  hid  the  land 
As  far  as  eye  could  see  !" 

All  at  once  the  foggy  vapors  peculiar  to  the  country 
had  steeped  everything  in  darkness  ;  we  could  gues.-i 
from  the  helm  where  the  land  lay,  but  how  near  it 
was  we  were  at  a  loss  to  tell.  What  with  the  whist- 
ling wind,  the  darkness,  the  surging  sea,  we  felt  quite 
bewildered  and  amazed. 

The  Wanderer  looked  at  his  watch,  and  it  was  past 
midnight.  Even  if  the  fog  cleared  off,  it  would  not 
be  safe  to  take  Loch  Bolsdale  without  good  light,  and 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  beat  about  till  sunrise. 
This  was  a  prospect  not  at  all  comfortable,  for  we 
might  even  then  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  dangerous 
rocks,  and  if  the  wind  rose  any  higher,  we  should  be 
compelled  to  run  before  the  wind,  God  knew  whither. 
Meantime,  it  was  determined  to  stand  off  a  little  to 
the  open,  in  dread  of  coming  to  over-close  quarters 
with  the  shore. 

Ilamish  sat  at  the  helm,  stern  and  imperturbable. 
We  knew  by  his  silence  that  he  was  anxious,  but  he 
expressed  no  anxiety  whatever.  Ever  and  anon,  he 
slipped  down  his  hand  on  the  deck  to  leeward,  feeling 


212  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

how  near  the  water  was  to  the  cockpit,  and  as  there 
Beemed  considerable  danger  of  foundering  in  the 
heavy  sea,  he  speedily  agreed  with  us  that  it  would  be 
wise  to  close  over  the  cockpit  hatches.  That  done,  all 
was  achieved  that  hands  could  do,  save  holding  the 
boat  with  the  helm  steady  and  close  to  the  wind — a 
task  which  Ilamish  fulfilled  to  perfection.  .  Indeed, 
we  were  in  no  slight  danger  from  squalls,  for  the 
wind  was  off  the  land,  and  nothing  saved  us,  when 
struck  by  heavy  gusts,  but  the  firmness  and  skill  of 
the  helmsman.  lie  had  talked  about  smelling  the 
]and,  but  it  is  certain  that  he  seemed  to  smell  the 
wind ;  almost  before  a  squall  touched  her,  the  Tern 
was  standing  up  to  it  tight  and  firm,  when  ever  so 
Blijjht  a  fallinoj  off  might  have  stricken  us  over  to  the 
mast,  and  perhaps  (for  the  cockpit  hatches  were  a 
Bmall  protection)  foundered  us  in  the  open  sea. 

We  will  draw  a  veil  over  the  sufferings  of  the  Vi- 
king. He  was  a  wreck  by  this  time,  too  weak  even 
to  scream  out  his  propliccies  of  doom,  but  lying  antic- 
ipating his  fate  in  the  forecastle  hammock,  with  the 
grog  at  his  side  and  his  eyes  closed  des])airingly 
against  all  the  terrors  of  the  scene.  The  cook  was 
lying  in  tlie  cabin,  very  sidk — in  that  happy  frame  of 
mind  when  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  we 
float  on  or  go  to  the  bottom.  The  Wanderer,  drenched 
through,  clung  close  beside  the  pilot,  and  strained 
his  eyes  against  wind  and  salt  spray  into  the  darkness. 
It  would  be  false  to  say  that  he  felt  comfortable,  but  as 
false  to  say  that  he  was  frightened.  Though  dread- 
fully excitable  by  nature,  he  was  of  too  sanguine  a 
temperament  to  be  overpowered  by  half-seen  perils. 


NIGHT   ON   THE   MINOH,  213 

On  the  whole,  though  the  situation  was  precarious, 
he  had  by  no  moans  made  up  his  mind  to  be  drowned  ; 
and  there  was  8omethin2:  so  stiinulatinjx  in  the  bravo 
conduct  of  the  little  sliip,  wliich  seemed  to  bo  fight- 
ing out  the  battle  on  her  own  account,  that  at  times 
he  felt  actually  light-hearted  enough  to  sing  aloud 
a  verse  of  his  favorite  "  Tom  Bowling."  No  man, 
however,  could  have  sat  yonder  in  the  darkness, 
amid  the  rush  of  wind  and  wave,  and  failed  to 
tremble  at  times,  thinking  of  the  power  of  God ;  so 
that,  again  and  again,  thi'ough  the  Wanderer's  mind, 
with  a  deep  sea-music  of  their  own,  rolled  the  verses 
of  the  Psalm — "  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  that  do  l)usiness  in  great  waters ;  these  see  the 
works  of  the  Lord,  and  his  wonders  in  the  deep.  For 
he  commandeth,  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind,  which 
lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof.  They  mount  up  to  the 
heaven,  they  go  down  again  to  the  depths ;  their  soul 
is  melted  because  of  trouble.  They  reel  to  and  fro, 
and  stagger  like  a  drunken  man,  and  are  at  their  wits' 
end.  Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in.  their  trouble, 
and  he  bringeth  them  out  of  their  distresses.  lie 
maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the  waves  thereof 
are  still.  Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet; 
so  he  bringeth  them  unto  their  desired  haven.  Oh 
that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness,  and 
for  his  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of  men !" 

It  was  now  so  dark  that  we  could  see  nothing  on 
any  side  of  us,  save  the  glitter  of  the  crests  of  the 
waves,  and  the  phosphorescent  glimmer  of  the  beaten 
water  behind  the  keel.  The  wind  was  pretty  steady, 
and  the  squalls  not  too  frequent.    We  were  running 


214  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

through  the  darkness  at  considerable  speed,  burying 
oar  bowsprit  in  every  wave,  and  washing  our  decks  as 
clean  as  salt  water  could  make  them.  So  low  was  the 
Tern^s  rail,  and  so  close  to  the  sea,  even  on  the  weath- 
er side,  that  it  was  almost  like  being  dragged  through 
the  water  bodily  with  the  chilly  waves  lapping  round 
one's  waist. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  darkness  ahead,  shot  a  sharp 
glimmer  of  light;  then  there  was  a  loud  sound  like 
the  creaking  of  cordage  and  noise  of  sails ;  and  then, 
before  we  could  utter  a  cry,  a  large  brig  dashed  across 
our  bows,  running  with  a  free  sheet  before  the  wind. 
Ghostly  and  strange  she  looked  in  the  mist,  driving  at 
tremendous  speed,  and  churning  the  sea  to  sparkling 
foam.  With  a  loud  oath,  namish  shoved  the  helm 
hard-a-port,  and  brought  the  head  of  the  Ter^n  up  to 
the  wind.  We  had  narrowly  escaped  a  collision. 
With  fascinated  eyes  we  watched  the  brig  dash  on 
until  it  was  swallowed  up  in  the  darkness,  and  when 
it  was  quite  gone,  drew  a  heavy  breath  of  relief. 

"  Lord,  that  was  a  close  shave !"  muttered  Shaw, 
drawing  his  cuff  across  his  mouth,  as  is  his  manner 
when  agitated.  "  AVha  would  hae  thought  o'  meeting 
strange  craft  hereabouts  ?  We'd  may-be  better  rig  out 
the  mast-head  lantern,  in  case  o'  mair  accidents." 

Tills  was  soon  done,  and  although  the  lantern  burnt 
blue  and  dim,  we  felt  more  secure.  After  so  narrow 
an  escape,  what  reasonable  creature  would  have 
refused  to  drink  his  own  health  in  the  water  of  life? 
The  grog-bottle  was  passed  round,  and  never  was  a 
*'  nip  of  the  screech  "  received  with  more  affectionate 
unction. 


NIGHT   ON   THE   MINOH.  215 

It  was  a  weary  work,  tliat  waiting  in  the  dark- 
ness. The  wind  sang,  the  water  sobbed,  the  sail 
moaned,  until  the  Wanderer  began  to  get  sleepier 
and  sleepier,  and  at  last,  wet  as  he  was,  sank  off  into 
a  doze,  wherein  he  was  just  half  conscious  of  the 
boat's  motion  through  the  water,  and  half  dreaming 
of  things  far  away.  Suddenly  he  was  startled  by  a 
roar  in  his  ear,  and  rubbed  his  eyes  wildly,  listening. 
It  was  Ilamish  Shaw  saying  quietly  : 

"  It's  beirinninij:  to  get  Vmht.  I  see  the  loom  o'  the 
land." 

Shivering  like  a  half- drowned  rat  in  the  cold,  damp 
air  of  the  dawn,  and  dashing  the  wet  hair  out  of  his 
weary  eyes,  the  Wanderer  stared  all  round  him,  and 
saw,  when  his  obfuscated  wits  were  able  to  concen- 
trate themselves,  that  it  was  nearly  daybreak,  though 
all  was  dark  above.  A  dim,  silvern,  misty  glimmer 
was  on  the  sea,  and  about  two  miles  to  the  westward 
the  land  lay  black  in  a  mist  like  the  smoke  nearest 
the  funnel  of  a  new-coaled  steamer.  The  Yiking  was 
poking  his  head  through  the  cabin-hatch,  and  gazing 
shoreward. 

"  Can  ye  mak'  out  the  shape  o'  these  hills  ? "  he 
asked  of  the  pilot.  "  Loch  Boisdale  should  be  here- 
abouts." 

Hamish  shook  his  head. 

"  We  maun  creep  in  closer  to  mak'  certain,"  he  re- 
plied. "It's  o'er  dark  yet.  Yon  bit  place  yonder — 
where  you  see  a  shimmer  like  the  gleam  o'  herring- 
scales — ^looks  like  the  mouth  of  the  loch,  but  we 
maun  creep  in  cannie  and  get  mair  light," 

Althouo-h  Shaw  had  been  herrin^r-tishing  on  the 


21G  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

coast  for  many  jeare,  he  was  not  so  familiar  witli  tho 
coast  as  might  have  been  expected.  He  knew  its 
general  outline,  but  had  not  made  close  observation 
of  details.  "With  the  indifference  peculiar  to  tho 
fishers,  he  had  generally  trusted  to  Providence  and 
his  own  sagacity,  without  making  any  mental  note  of 
his  experiences.  So  it  was  not  until  we  had  twice  or 
thrice  referred  to  the  chart  that  he  remembered  that 
just  south  of  Boisdale,  about  half  a  mile  from  shore, 
there  was  a  dangerous  reef  called  Mackenzie  Kock, 
and  that  above  this  rock  there  was  a  red  buoy,  which, 
if  descried  in  the  dim  light,  would  be  a  certain  index 
to  the  whereabouts  of  the  mouth  of  the  loch. 

"  Tam  Saunders  put  the  Wild  Duck  on  that  rock 
when  I  was  up  here  in  the  Gannet^^  said  Hamish ; 
"but  she  was  as  strong  as  iron — different  frae  this 
wee  bit  shell  o'  a  thing — and  they  keepit  her  fixit 
there  till  the  flood,  and  then  floated  her  off  wi'  scarce 
a  scratch.  We'll  just  put  her  about,  and  creep  in 
shore  on  the  other  tack." 

Though  the  day  was  slowly  breaking,  it  was  still 
very  misty,  and  a  thin,  cold  "  smurr  "  was  beginning 
to  dreep  down  in  the  sea.  The  wind  was  still  sharp 
and  strong,  the  sea  high,  and  the  squalls  dangerous; 
but  we  knew  now  that  the  worst  of  our  troubles  must 
be  over.  As  we  approached  closer  to  the  shore,  we 
noticed  one  great  bluff,  or  headland,  from  which  tlic 
land  receded  on  either  side,  leaving  it  darkly  promi- 
nent ;  and  a  reference  to  the  chart  soon  convinced  us 
that  this  headland  was  no  other  than  the  Khu  Ilordag, 
which  lies  a  few  miles  to  the  south  of  Loch  Boisdale. 
So  we  put  about  again,  and  slipped  up  along  the  land, 


NIGHT    ON   THE   MINCH.  217 

lying  very  close  to  the  wind.  It  was  soon  clear  that 
the  dawn,  although  it  had  fully  broken,  was  not  going 
to  favor  us  with  a  brilliant  exhibition,  nor  to  dispel 
the  dangerous  vapors  in  which  the  shore  was  shroud- 
ed. The  whole  shape  of  the  land  was  distorted.  One 
could  merely  conjecture  where  solid  earth  ended  and 
inist  began — all  was  confusion.  No  sun  came  out — 
only  the  duil  glimmer  through  the  miserable  "  smurr  " 
betokened  that  it  was  day. 

Suddenly,  with  »  shriek  of  joy,  the  YiKing  discov- 
ered tlie  buoy,  and  pointed  it  out  through  the  rain. 
Yes,  there  it  was,  a  red  spot  in  a  circle  of  white  foam, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  on  the  weather-quarter. 
With  thia  assistance,  it  was  decided  that  the  spot 
which  Shaw  had  compared  to  the  "  gleam  of  herring- 
scales  "  was  indeed  the  mouth  of  the  loch.  Never  did 
voyagers  hail  the  sight  of  haven  with  greater  joy  I 

It  was  a  run  of  nearly  a  mile  up  to  the  anchorage, 
and  the  passage  was  by  no  means  a  safe  one  ;  bu' 
Hamish,  once  in  the  loch,  knew  every  stone  and 
shallow  perfectly.  When  we  cast  anchor,  the  thin 
"  smurr  "  had  changed  into  a  heavy  rain,  and  all  the 
scene  around  was  black  and  wild.  But  what  cared 
we  ?  The  iire  was  lighted  in  the  forecastle,  Ilamish 
put  on  the  kettle,  and  the  kettle  began  to  sing.  Then, 
after  donning  dry  clothes,  we  sat  do-svn  as  merry  as 
crickets.  The  Wanderer  dozed  smilingly  in  a  corner. 
The  Viking  swore  roundly  that  it  had  been  the  "j  oi- 
liest night "  he  had  ever  spent,  and  that  such  experi- 
ences made  him  in  love  with  sailing.  Ilamish  Shaw, 
to  whom  all  the  glory  of  the  night  belonged,  first  lit 
his  black  cutty  pipe,  and  rested  his  head  against  the 

10 


218  THE   LAND   OF   LOIiNE. 

side  of  the  forecastle,  and  then,  in  an  instant,  dropped 
off,  heavy  as  a  log,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  still 
gripping  the  cutty  firmly  between  his  teeth  as  he 
alept. 


THE  I'lHHMUS    OF   THE   LONG   ISJLAND.        '^1^ 


CHAPTER  TT, 

THE    FISHERS    OF    THE    LONG    ISLAND. 

Loch  Boisdale — Tho  Tern  at  Anchor — The  Inn  and  the  Population — Baiu 
— Boisdalo  in  tho  Herring-Season— Fishing-boats  and  Camps — A  Might 
in  a  West-Country  Smack — Herring-gutters — Habits  of  East-Country 
Fishermen. 

The  Tent's  first  anchorage  in  the  Outer  Hebrides 
was   at  Loch   Boisdale,  and   it   was   there   that  tlie 
dreary  landscape  of  the  Long  Island  began  to  exer- 
cise its  deep  fascination  over  the  Wanderer's  mind. 
We  lay  at  the  usual  place,  close  to  the  pier  and  inn, 
in  the   full  enjoyment  of  the  ancient   and   fish-like 
smell   wafted  to   us   from   the   curing-places   ashore. 
The  herring-fishers  had  nearly  all  departed,  save  one 
or  two  native  crews,  who  were  still  laboring  leisure- 
ly ;  but  they  had  left  their  debris  everywhere — skele- 
tons of  huts,   piles  of  peat,  fish-bones,  scraps  of  rot- 
ten nets,  even  broken  pots  and  dishes.     One  or  two 
huts,  some  entirely  of  wood,  stood  empty,  awaiting 
the  return  of  their  owners  in  the  following  spring. 
The  whole  place  was  deserted — ^its  harvest-time  was 
over.     When  we  rowed  ashore  in  the  punt,  the  popu- 
lation— consisting  of  two  old  men  and  some  dirty  lit- 
tle boys — received  us  in  grim  amazement  and  silence,. 
until  the  advent  of  the  inn-keeper,  who,  repressing  all 
outward  symptoms  of  wonder,  bade  us  a  sly  welcomo. 


220  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

and  showed  us  the  way  to  li is  establishment.     The  ob- 
vious impression  was  that  we  were  insane ;  the  tiny 
craft  in  wliich  we  had  come  over,  our  wild  and  hag- 
gard appearance,  and,  above  all,  the  fact  that  we  had 
actually  come  to  Loch  Boisdale  for  pleasure  (a  fact  un- 
precedented in  the  mind  of  the  oldest  inhabitant),  all 
contributed  to  strengthen  this  belief.     The  landlord 
was  free  and  inquisitive,  humoring  us  cunningly,  as 
keepers  do  mad  people,  receiving  all  our  statements 
calmly  and  without  contradiction,  answering  all  our 
questions  in  the  easy  manner  found  useful  in  dealing 
with  idiots  and  infants,  never  thinking  it  worth  while 
to  correct  us  when  we  were  wrong.     As  he  sat  chat- 
ting with  us  over  a  glass  of  whisky,  in  a  mildewy  room 
of  the  inn,  tlie  inhabitants  dropped  in  one  by  one; 
first,  the  two  old  men,  then  a  little  boy,  then  a  tipsy 
fisherman,  and  so  on,  till  the  room  was  full  of  specta- 
tors, all  with  their  mouths  wide  open,  and  all,  without 
sign   of  ordering   or   drinking   anything,  staring   at 
the   strangers.     This   volley  of  eyes  became  at  last 
so  unbearable  that  it  was  thought  advisable  to  di- 
rect it   elsewhere   by  ordering  "  glasses  round ;  "  an 
act   of  generosity   which,  however   grateful   to    the 
feelings,  was   received   without  enthusiasm,   though 
the  mouths  and  eyes  opened  still  wider  in  amaze. 
The    advent    of    the    whisky,   however,    acted    like 
a   charm,  and   the  company  burst  into  a  torrent  of 
Gaelic. 

The  result  of  a  long  conversation  with  the  popu- 
lace— which  in  number  and  appearance  bore  about 
the  same  relation  to  a  respectable  community  that  a 
stage  "mob"  in  "Julius  Csesar  "  would  bear  to  the 


THE    FIHIIEIiS    OF    THE  LON<*    ISLAND.        221 

real  article — was  not  particularly  edifying.  These 
gentlemen  were  cynical  on  the  merits  of  Loch  Bois- 
(lale ;  its  principal  beauties,  in  their  opinion,  be- 
ing ague,  starvation,  and  weariness.  For  any  per- 
son to  remain  there,  ever  so  short  a  time,  who 
could  by  any  possibility  get  out  of  it,  was  a  thing 
not  to  be  credited  by  common  sense.  The  inn-keeper, 
however,  tried  to  convey  to  us  his  comprehension 
that  we  had  come  there,  not  for  pleasure,  but  "  on  a 
discovering  manner,"  by  which  mystical  Celticism  he 
meant  to  say  that  we  were  visitors  come  to  make 
inquiries,  possibly  with  a  view  to  commerce  or  sta- 
tistics. He  shook  his  head  over  both  country  and 
people,  and  seemed  to  think  our  expedition  was 
a  waste  of  time. 

For  three  days  after  that,  it  rained  as  it  can  rain 
only  in  the  Long  Island ;  and  when  at  last,  tired  out 
of  patience,  we  rushed  ashore,  our  friend  the  innkeep- 
er received  us  with  a  deprecating  smile.  "With  keen 
sarcasm,  we  demanded  if  it  were  always  "  that  sort  of 
weather "  in  Loch  Boisdale ;  but  he  replied  quite 
calmly,  "Ay,  much  aboot."  But  when  we  sat  down 
over  usquebaugh,  and  the  rain,  still  plashing  darkly 
without, 

"  Witli  its  twofold  sound. 
The  clash  hard  by,  and  the  murmur  all  round  !" 

showed  that  the  weather  was  little  likely  to  abate  that 
day,  the  landlord  seemed  to  think  his  credit  at  stake, 
and  that  even  Loch  Boisdale  was  appearing  at  a  dis- 
advantage. To  console  him,  we  told  him  that  story 
of  the  innkeeper  at  Arrochar  which  poor  Hugh  Mac- 
donald   used  to   retail  with   such   unction    over   the 


222  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

toddy.  An  English  traveler  stayed  for  some  days  at 
Arrochar,  and  there  had  been  nothing  but  rain  from 
morn  to  night.  The  landlord  tried  to  keep  up  his 
guest's  spirits  by  repeated  prophecies  that  the  weather 
was  "  about  to  break  up  ;""  but  at  last,  on  the  fifth 
day,  the  stranger  could  endure  it  no  longer.  "  I  say, 
landlord,  have  you  ever — now,  on  your  honor — have 
you  ever  any  other  sort  of  weather  in  this  confounded 
place?"  The  landlord  replied  humbly,  yet  bitterly, 
*'  Speak  nae  mair,  sir,  speak  nae  mair.  I'm  just  per- 
fectly ashamed  of  the  way  in  which  our  weather's  be- 
having !"  But  the  Loch  Boisdale  landlord  seemed  to 
think  the  tale  too  serious  for  laughter. 

As  we  have  noted  above,  the  herring  harvest  was 
over.  Twice  in  the  year  there  is  good  fishing — in  the 
spring  and  in  the  autumn ;  but  the  autumn  fishing  is 
left  quite  in  the  hands  of  a  few  native  boats.  The 
moment  the  spring-fishing  ends,  Loch  Boisdale  sub- 
sides into  torpor.  All  is  desolate  and  still ;  only  the 
fishy  smell  remains,  to  remind  the  yawning  native  of 
the  glory  that  is  departed. 

A  busy  sight,  indeed,  is  Loch  Boisdale  or  Storno- 
way  in  the  herring  season.  Smacks,  open  boats,  skiffs, 
wherries,  make  the  narrow  waters  shady  ;  not  a  creek, 
however  small,  but  holds  some  boat  in  shelter.  A 
fleet,  indeed! — the  Lochleven  boat  from  the  east  coast, 
with  the  three  masts  and  the  three  huge  lugsails ;  the 
Newhaven  boat,  with  its  two  lugsails  ;  the  Isle  of 
Man  "jigger;"  the  beautiful  Guernsey  runner,  hand- 
some as  a  racing  yacht,  and  powerful  as  a  revenue 
cutter;  besides  all  the  numberless  fry  of  less  notice- 
able vessels,  from  the  fat  west-country  smack,  with  its 


THE   nSlIEKS    OF   THE    LONG    I«LAND.        223 

comfortable  fittinj:^s,  down  to  the  miserable  Arraii 
wherry.^  Swarms  of  seagulls  float  everywhere,  and 
the  loch  is  so  oily  with  the  fishy  deposit  that  it 
requires  a  strong  wind  to  ruffle  its  surface.  Every- 
where on  the  shore  and  hillsides,  and  on  the  number- 
less islands,  rises  the  smoke  of  camps.  Busy  swarms 
surround  the  curing-houses  and  the  inn,  while 
the  beach  is  strewn  with  fishermen  lying  at  length, 
and  dreaming  till  work-time.  In  the  afternoon,  the " 
fleet  slowly  disappear,  melting  away  out  into  the 
ocean,  not  to  re-emerge  till  long  after  the  gray  of  the 
next  dawn. 

Did  you  ever  go  out  for  a  night  with  the  herring- 
fishers  ?  If  you  can  endure  cold  and  wet,  you  would  en- 
joy the  thing  hugely,  especially  if  you  have  a  boating 
mind.  Imagine  yourself  on  board  a  west-country 
Bmack,  running  from  Boisdale  Harbor  with  the  rest 
of  the  fleet.  It  is  afternoon,  and  there  is  a  nice,  fresh 
breeze  from  the  southwest.  You  crouch  in  the  stern, 
by  the  side  of  the  helmsman,  and  survey  all  around 
you  with  the  interest  of  a  novice.  Six  splendid  fel- 
lows, in  various  picturesque  attitudes,  lounge  about 
the   great,  broad,  open  hold,   and  another   is   down 

*  The  Arran  wherry,  now  nearly  extinct,  is  a  wretched-looking^ 
thing,  without  a  bowsprit,  but  with  two  strong  masts.  Across  t\\(~. 
foremast  is  a  bulkhead,  and  there  is  a  small  locker  for  blankets 
and  bread.  In  the  open  space  between  bulkhead  and  locker  birch 
tops  are  thickly  strewn  for  a  bed,  and  for  covering  there  is  a  huge 
woolen  waterproof  blanket  ready  to  be  stretched  out  on  spars. 
Close  to  the  mast  lies  a  huge  stone,  and  thereon  a  stove.  The 
cable  is  of  heather  rope,  the  anchor  wooden,  and  the  stock  a  stone. 
Rude  and  ill-found  as  these  boats  are,  they  face  weather  before 
which  any  ordinary  yachtsman  would  quail. 


224  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

in  the  forecastle  boiling  coffee.  If  you  were  not  there, 
half  of  these  would  be  taking  their  sleep  down  below. 
It  seems  a  lazy  business,  so  far  ;  but  wait !  By  sun- 
set the  smack  has  run  fifteen  miles  up  the  coast,  and 
is  going  seven  or  eight  miles  east  of  Rhu  Ilunish  light- 
house ;  many  of  the  fleet  still  keep  her  company, 
steering  thick  as  shadows  in  the  twilight.  How  the 
gulls  gather  yonder !  The  dull  plash  ahead  of  the 
boat  was  caused  by  the  plunge  of  a  solan  goose.  That 
the  herrings  are  hereabout,  and  in  no  small  numbers, 
you  might  be  sure,  even  without  that  bright,  phos- 
phorescent light  which  travels  in  patches  on  the  water 
to  leeward.  !N^ow  is  the  time  to  see  the  lounging 
crew  dart  into  sudden  activity.  The  boat's  head  is 
brought  up  to  the  wind,  and  the  sails  are  lowered  in 
an  instant.*  One  man  grips  the  helm,  another  seizes 
the  back  rope  of  the  net,  a  third  the  "  skunk  "  or 
body,  a  fouith  is  placed  to  see  the  buoys  clear  and 
heave  them  out,  the  rest  attend  forward,  keeping  a 
sharp  look-out  for  other  nets,  ready,  in  case  the  boat 
should  run  too  fast,  to  steady  her  by  dropping  the 
anchor  a  few  fathoms  into  the  sea.  When  all  the  nets 
are  out,  the  boat  is  brought  bow  on  to  the  net,  the 
"swing"  (as  they  call  the  rope  attached  to  the  net) 
secured  to  the  smack's  "  bits,"  and  all  hands  then 
lower  the  mast  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  mast 
lowered,  secured,  and  made  all  clear  for  hoisting  at  a 
moment's  notice,  and  the  candle  lantern  set  U]>  in  the 

*  There  is  fashion  everywhere.  An  east  country  boat  always 
(^li(X)tH  across  the  wind,  of  course  carrying  some  sail ;  while  a 
west-country  boat  shoots  before  the  wind,  with  bare  poles. 


THE   FIHIIEIIH    or    Till-;    LONG    18LAND.         "'2.'> 

iron  Htund  made  for  the  purpose  of  h(ddiu^  it,  llie 
crew  leave  one  look-out  on  deck,  with  instructions  to 
call  them  up  at  a  fixed  hour,  and  turn  in  helow  for  a 
nap  in  their  clothen ;  unless  it  so  happens  that  your 
brilliant  conversation,  seasoned  with  a  few  bottles 
of  whisky,  should  tempt  them  to  steal  a  few  more 
hours  from  the  summer  night.  Day  breaks,  and  every 
man  is  on  deck.  All  hands  are  busy  at  work,  taking 
the  net  in  over  the  bow,  two  supporting  the  body,  the 
rest  hauling  the  back  rope,  save  one  who  draws  the 
net  into  the  hold,  and  another  who  arranges  it  from 
Bide  to  side  in  the  hold  to  keep  the  vessel  even. 
Tweet !  tweet ! — that  thin,  cheeping  sound,  resem- 
bling the  razor-like  call  of  the  bat,  is  made  by  dying 
herrings  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  The  sea  to  lee- 
ward, the  smack's  hold,  the  hands  and  arms  of  the 
men,  are  gleaming  like  silver.  As  many  of  the  iish 
as  possible  are  shaken  loose  during  the  process  of 
hauling  in,  but  the  rest  arc  left  in  the  net  until  the 
smack  gets  on  shore.  Three  or  four  hours  pass  away  in 
this  wet  and  tiresome  work.  At  last,  however,  the 
nets  are  all  drawn  in,  the  mast  is  hoisted,  the  sail  set, 
and  while  the  cook  (there  being  always  one  man  hav- 
ing this  branch  of  work  in  his  department)  plunges 
below  to  prepare  breakfast,  the  boat  makes  for  Loch 
Boisdale.  Everywhere  on  the  water,  see  the  fishing- 
boats  making  for  the  same  bourne,  blessing  their  luck 
or  cursing  their  misfortune,  just  as  the  event  of  the 
night  may  have  been.  All  sail  is  set,  if  possible,  and 
it  is  a  wild  race  to  the  market.  Even  when  the 
anchorage  is  reached,  the  work  is  not  quite  finished  ; 

10* 


220  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

for  the  fish  have  to  be  measured  out  in  "cran"  baskets,* 
and  delivered  at  the  curing-station.  By  the  time  that 
the  crew  have  got  their  morning  dram,  have  arranged 
the  nets  snuglj  in  the  stern,  and  have  had  some  her- 
rings for  dinner,  it  is  time  to  be  off  again  to  the  har- 
vest-field. Half  the  crew  turn  in  for  sleep,  while  the 
other  half  hoist  sail  and  conduct  the  vessel  out  to  sea. 

Huge,  indeed,  are  the  swarms  that  inhabit  Boisdale, 
afloat  or  ashore,  during  the  harvest ;  but,  partly  be- 
cause each  man  has  his  business  on  hand,  and  partly 
because  there  is  plenty  of  sea-room,  there  are  few 
breaches  of  the  peace.  On  Sunday  night,  the  public- 
house  is  crowded,  and  now  and  then  the  dull  roar 
ceases  for  a  moment,  as  some  obstreperous  member  is 
shut  out  summarily  into  the  dark.  Besides  the  reg- 
ular fishermen  and  people  employed  at  the  curing  sta- 
tion, there  are  the  herring-gutters — women  of  all  ages, 
many  of  whom  follow  simply  the  fortunes  of  the 
fishers  from  place  to  place.  Their  business  is  to  gut 
and  salt  the  fish,  which  they  do  with  wonderful  dex- 
terity and  skill. 

Hideous,  indeed,  looks  a  group  of  these  women, 
defiled  from  head  to  foot  with  herring  garbage,  and 
laughing  and  talking  volubly,  while  gulls  innumerable 
float  above  them,  and  fill  the  air  with  their  discordant 
screams.  But  look  at  them  when  their  work  is  over, 
and  they  are  changed  indeed.  Always  cleanly,  and 
generally  smartly,  dressed,  they  i)arade  the  roads  and 
wharf.      Numbers    of  them  are  old    and    ill-favored, 

*  A  cran  holds  rather  more  than  a  herring-barrel,  and  the  aver 
age  value  of  a  cran-meaaure  of  herrings  is  about  one  pound  ster- 
ling. 


THE   FISHERS    OF   THE    LONG    ISLAND.        227 

but  you  will  sec  among  them  many  a  blooming 
cheek  and  beautiful  eye.  Their  occupation  is  a  profit- 
able one,  especially  if  they  be  skillful ;  for  they  are 
paid  according  to  the  amount  of  work  they  do. 

It  is  the  custom  of  most  of  the  east-country  fishers 
to  bring  over  their  own  women — one  to  every  boat, 
sleeping  among  the  men,  and  generally  related  to  one 
or  more  of  the  crew.  We  have  met  many  of  these 
girls,  some  of  them  very  pretty,  and  could  vouch  for 
their  perfect  purity.  Besides  their  value  as  cooks, 
they  can  gut  herrings  and  mend  nets ;  but  their  chief 
recommendation  in  the  eyes  of  the  canny  fishermen  is 
that  they  are  kith  and  kin,  while  the  natives  are 
Btrangers  "  no'  to  be  trusted."  The  east-country  fish- 
erman, on  his  arrival,  invariably  encamps  on  shore, 
and  the  girl  or  woman  "  keeps  the  house "  for  the 
whole  crew. 

For  the  fisherman  of  the  east  coast  likes  to  be  com- 
fortable. He  is  at  once  the  most  daring  and  the  most 
careful.  He  will  face  such  dangers  on  the  sea  as 
would  appall  most  men,  while  at  the  same  time  he  is 
as  cautious  as  a  woman  in  providing  against  cold  and 
ague.  How  he  manages  to  move  in  his  clothes  is  a 
matter  for  marvel,  for  he  is  packed  like  a  j)atient  after 
the  cold-water  process.  Only  try  to  clothe  yourself  in 
all  the  following  articles  of  attire :  pair  of  stockings, 
pair  of  stockings  over  them  half  up  the  leg,  to  be  cov- 
ered by  the  long  fishing-boots ;  on  the  trunk,  a  thick 
flannel,  covered  with  an  oilskin-vest;  on  the  top  of 
these,  an  oilskin-coat ;  next,  a  mighty  muffler  to  -wind 
round  the  neck,  and  bury  the  chin  and  mouth  ;  and 
last  of  all,  the  sou'wester  !     This  is  the  usual  costume 


228  THE   LAND   OF   LOIINE. 

of  an  east-country  iishennan,  and  he  not  only  breathes 
and  lives  in  it,  but  manages  his  boat,  on  the  whole, 
better  than  any  of  his  rivals  on  the  water.  He  drags 
himself  along  on  land  awkwardly  enough ;  and  on 
board,  instead  of  rising  to  walk,  he  rolls,  as  it  were, 
from  one  part  of  the  boat  to  the  other.  He  is  alto- 
gether a  more  calculating  dog  than  the  west-country 
man,  more  eager  for  gain,  colder  and  more  reticent  in 
all  his  dealings  with  human  kind. 

On  our  arrival  at  Loch  Boisdale  in  the  Tem^  there 
was  nothing  to  redeem  the  cheerless  gloom  of  the 
place.  We  lingered  only  a  few  days,  during  which  it 
blew  a  violent  gale;  and  then,  slipping  out  of  the  har- 
bor with  the  first  light,  began  to  work  northward 
along  the  coast. 


GLIMPSES    01''    THE    OUTEE    IIEBllIDES.      ii^O 


CHAPTER  XI. 

GLIMPSES  OF  TUB  OUTEK  HEBRTOES. 

First  Glimpee — The  Uists  and  Benbecula — Their  Miserable  Asixjcts — Ham- 
ish  Shaw— Solomnity  of  tho  People— Brighter  Glimpses- The  Western 
Coast  of  the  Island— "Winter-Storm— Tho  Sound  of  Harris— Tho  Norwe- 
gian Skipper— Tho  Fjords— Kelp-burners-View  from  Kenneth  Hill, 
Loch  Boisdale — A  Sunset — The  Lagoons — Charaeteristics  of  tho  Pecv 
pie — Civilized  and  Uncivilized — Miserable  Dwellings — Comfortable  At- 
tire— Their  Superstitions  and  Deep  Spiritual  Life. 

A  DREARY  sky,  a  dreary  fall  of  rain.  Long,  low 
flats,  covered  with  tlieir  own  damp  breath,  through 
which  the  miserable  cattle  loomed  like  shadows. 
Everywhere  lakes  and  pools,  as  thickly  sown  amid  the 
land  as  islands  amid  the  Pacific  waters.  Huts,  wretch- 
ed and  chilly,  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  rock- 
strewn  marshes  surrounding  them.  To  the  east,  the 
Minch,  rolling  dismal  waters  toward  the  far-off  heads 
of  Skye ;  to  the  west,  the  ocean,  foaming  at  the  lips, 
and  stretchino;  barren  and  desolate  into  the  rain- 
charged  clouds. 

Such  was  the  first  view  of  Ultima  Thule,  and  such, 
indeed,  are  the  Outer  Hebrides  during  two  or  three 
days  out  of  the  seven.  Theirs  is  the  land  of  Utgard- 
Loke,  a  lonely  outer  region,  not  dear  to  the  gods. 
There  are  mountains,  but  they  do  not  abound,  and  are 


230  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

unadorned  with  the  softer  colors  which  beautify  the 
inner  and  more  southerly  isles.  There  are  no  trees, 
and  few  flowers.  Two-thirds  of  the  herbage  lacks  the 
exquisite  softness  of  the  true  pasture.  The  peat-bog 
supplies  the  place  of  the  meadow,  the  gi'ay  boulders 
strew  the  hills  in  lieu  of  red  heather.  The  land  is 
torn  up  everywhere  into  rocky  fjords  and  desolate  la- 
goons. Where  the  sea  does  not  reach  in  an  arm,  the 
fresh  water  comes  up  and  deepens  in  countless  lakes 
and  pools.  There  are  few  song-birds,  even  the  thrush 
being  rare  ;  but  the  wild-goose  screams  overhead,  and 
the  ice-duck  haunts  the  gloaming  with  its  terribly  hu- 
man "  Calloo !  calloo  !  " 

The  islands  of  Uist,  with  Benbecula  between,  ex- 
tend from  the  Sound  of  Harris  as  far  south  as  Barra, 
and  appear  to  have  originally  formed  one  unbroken 
chain ;  and  still,  indeed,  at  low  ebbs,  a  person  might 
almost  walk  dryshod  from  Loch  Boisdale  to  Loch 
Maddy.  On  the  eastern  side,  and  here  and  there  in 
the  interior,  there  are  high  hills,  such  as  Ilecla  and 
Ben  Eval ;  and  everywhere  on  the  eastern  coast  reach 
long  arms  of  tlie  sea,  winding  far  into  the  land,  and 
sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of  Loch  Eport,  reaching  to 
the  very  fringe  of  the  Western  Ocean.  The  land  is, 
for  the  most  part,  low  and  unfertile,  but  there  are  a 
few  breezy  uplands  and  fine  moors.  All  along  the 
western  side  of  the  islands  stretches  a  blank  coast-line, 
unbroken  by  loch  or  haven,  however  small ;  and  above 
it  rises  a  broad  tract  of  hillocks,  composed  of  snow- 
white  sand  and  powdered  sea-shells,  and  covered  by 
dry  green  pasture.  Washed  and  winnowed  out  of 
the  deep  bed  of  the  ocean,  driven  in  and  piled  up  by 


GLIMPSES    OF    THE    OUTER    IIEBUIDE8        2:J1 

the  great  waters,  the  sands  and  shells  gather  year 
after  year,  and,  mixing  with  the  moister  soil  of  tlie  in- 
terior, yield  an  arable  and  fertile  soil. 

To  the  mind  of  Ilamish  Shaw,  who  has  been  here 
many  a  year  herring-fishing,  these  features  of  the  land 
are  quite  without  interest  or  excuse.  "  It's  a  poor, 
miserable  country,"  he  avers  ;  "  little  use  to  man  !  " 
And  this,  by  the  way,  is  the  standard  by  which  Shaw 
measures  all  the  things  of  this  world — their  greater  or 
less  utility  to  the  human.  lie  has  a  sneer  for  every 
hill,  however  high,  that  will  not  graze  sheep.  A  sea- 
gull or  a  hawk  he  would  destroy  pitilessly,  because  it 
cannot  be  converted  into  food.  He  is  angry  with  the 
most  picturesque  fjords,  until  it  can  be  shown  that 
the  herring  visit  them,  or  that  the  hill-burns  that  flow 
into  them  afford  good  trout.  All  this  is  the  more  re- 
markable in  a  man  so  thoroughly  Celtic,  so  strangely 
spiritual  in  his  reasonings,  so  pure  with  the  purity  of 
the  race.  There  is  a  fresh  life  grafted  on  his  true  na- 
ture. Inoculated  early  with  the  love  for  commerce* 
he  most  admires  cultivated  land-scenery  of  any  kind 
but  that  original  nature  which  delights  in  the  wild 
and  picturesque  is  still  unconsciously  nourished  by  the 
ever  various  sea  whereon  he  earns  his  bread. 

Hamish  Shaw's  charge  against  the  Long  Island  is 
substantial  enough  ;  the  country  is  poor,  and  neither 
fat  nor  fertile.  The  harvest  is  very  early  and  very 
poor.  There  is  an  excellent  shield  against  cold,  in  the 
shape  of  beds  of  excellent  peat,  sometimes  twenty  feet 
in  depth,  and  tliere  is  a  certain  provision  against  fam- 
ine in  the  innumerable  shell-fish  which  cover  the  num- 
berless shores.     The  tormentil,  properly  pounded  and 


232  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

prepared,  fnrnislies  a  iirst-rate  tan  for  cow  or  horse 
leather,  of  which  tlie  people  make  shoes.  The  land  is, 
for  the  most  part,  little  better  than  waste  land,  but 
there  is  good  pasturage  for  sheep. 

The  people,  on  the  first  view,  seem  slow  and  listless, 
overshadowed,  too,  with  the  strange  solemnity  of 
the  race.  There  is  no  smile  on  their  faces.  Young 
and  old  drag  their  limbs,  not  as  a  Lowlander  drags 
his  limbs,  but  lissomly,  with  a  swift,  serpentine  mo- 
tion. The  men  are  strong  and  powerful,  with  deep- 
set  eyes  and  languid  lips,  and  they  never  excite  them- 
selves over  their  labor.  The  women  are  weak  and 
plain,  full  of  a  calm,  domestic  trouble,  and  they  work 
harder  than  their  lords.  "  A  poor,  half-hearted  peo- 
ple !  "  says  the  pilot ;  "  why  don't  they  till  the  land 
and  fish  the  seas  ? " 

Here,  again,  the  pilot  has  his  reasons.  The  people 
are  half-hearted — say,  an  indolent  people.  They  do 
no  justice  to  their  scraps  of  land,  which,  poor  as  they 
be,  are  still  capable  of  great  improvement ;  but  their 
excuse  is  that  they  derive  little  substantial  benefit 
from  improvements  made  where  there  is  only  yearly 
tenure.  They  hunger  often,  even  when  the  fjords  op- 
posite their  own  door  are  swarming  with  cod  and 
ling;  but  it  is  to  be  taken  into  consideration  that  only 
a  few  of  them  live  on  the  seashore  or  possess  boats. 
They  let  the  ardent  east-«ountry  fishermen  carry  oif 
the  finest  hauls  of  herring.  Their  work  stops  when 
their  mouths  are  filled,  and  yet  they  are  ill-con- 
tent to  be  poor. 

All  this,  and  more  than  this,  is  truth,  and  sad 
tiuth.     Ilamish  has  a  strong  bill  against  both  coun- 


GLIMPSES    OF    THE    OUTER    HEBRIDES.        233 

try  and  ])eopl(3.  But  there  is  another  and  finer 
Bide  to  tiic  truth.  The  watery  wastes  of  IJist 
gather  powerfully  on  the  imagination,  and  the  curi- 
ous race  that  inhabit  them  grow  upon  the  heart. 

At  the  first  view,  as  we  have  said,  all  is  dreary 
— sky,  land,  water;  but,  after  a  little  time,  after 
the  mind  has  got  the  proper  foreground  for  these 
new  prospects,  the  feeling  changes  from  one  of  to- 
tal depression  into  a  sense  of  peculiar  magic.  In- 
stead of  dull,  flat  pools,  the  lagoons  assume  their 
gloiy  of  many-colored  weeds  and  innumerable  water- 
lilies;  out  of  the  dreary  peat-bog  rise  delicate  va- 
pors that  float  in  fantastic  shapes  up  the  hill-side ; 
the  sun  peeps  out,  and  the  mossy  hut  sends  its 
blue  smoke  into  the  clear,  still  air;  all  changes, 
and  every  nook  of  the  novel  prospect  has  a  beauty 
of  its  own. 

His  must  be  a  strange  soul  who,  wandering  over 
these  hillocks,  and  gazing  westward  and  seaward 
in  calm  weather,  is  not  greatly  awed  and  moved. 
There  is  no  pretense  of  effect,  no  tremendousness, 
no  obtrusive  sign  of  power.  The  sea  is  glassy 
smooth,  the  long  swell  does  not  break  at  all,  until, 
reaching  the  smooth  sand,  it  fades  softly,  with  deep, 
monotonous  moan.  Here  and  there,  sometimes  close 
to  land,  sometimes  far  out  seaward,  a  horrid  reef 
slips  its  black  back  through  the  liquid  blue,  or  a  sin- 
gle rock  emerges,  tooth-like,  thinly  edged  with  foam. 
Southward  loom  the  desolate  heights  of  Barra,  witli 
crags  and  rocks  beneath,  and  although  there  is  no 
wind,  the  ocean  breaks  there  with  one  broad  and 
friglitful  flash  of  white.     The  sea-sound  in  the  air  is 


234  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

faint  and  solemn  ;  it  does  not  cease  at  all.  But  what 
deepens  most  the  strangeness  of  the  scene,  and  weighs 
most  sadly  on  the  mind,  is  the  pale,  sick  color  of  the 
sands.  Even  on  the  green  heights,  the  wind  and  rain 
have  washed  out  great  hollows,  wherein  the  powdered 
shells  are  drifted  like  snow.  You  are  solemnized  as 
if  you  were  walking  on  the  great  bed  of  the  ocean, 
with  the  serene  depths  darkening  above  you.  You  are 
ages  back  in  time,  alone  with  the  great  forces  antece- 
dent to  man ;  but  humanity  comes  ])ack  upon  you 
creepingly,  as  you  think  of  wanderers  out  upon  that 
endless  waste,  and  search  the  dim  sea-line  in  vain  for  a 
sail. 

Calm  like  this  is  even  more  powerful  than  the 
storm.  Under  that  stillnesB  you  are  afraid  of  some- 
thing— nature,  death,  immortality,  God.  But  at  the 
rising  of  the  winds  rises  the  savage  within  you  :  the 
blood  flows,  the  heart  throbs,  the  eyes  are  pinched  close, 
the  mouth  shut  tio:ht.  You  can  resist  now  as  mortal 
things  resist.  Lifted  up  into  the  whirl  of  things,  life 
is  all  ;  the  stillness — nature,  death,   God — is  naught. 

Terrific,  nevertheless,  is  the  scene  on  these  coasts 
when  the  stonn-wind  rises, 

"  Blowing  the  trumpet  of  Euroclydon." 

Westward,  above  the  dark  sea-line,  rise  the  purple- 
black  clouds,  driving  with  a  tremendous  scurry  east- 
ward, while  fresh  vapors  rise  swiftly  to  fill  up  the 
rainy  gaps  they  leave  behind  them.  As  if  at  one 
word  of  command,  the  watei-s  rise  and  roar,  their  white 
crests,  towering  heavenward,  glimmering  against  tlie 
driving  mist.     Lightning,   flashing   out   of  the  sky, 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE    OUTER   HEBRIDES.       235 

shows  the  lonij  line  of  lire.akei'S  on  the  flat  Band,  tlic 
reefs  beyond,  the  foamy  tumult  around  the  rocks 
southward.  Thunder  crashes  afar,  and  the  earth  re- 
verberates. So  mighty  is  the  wind  at  times  that  no 
man  can  stand  erect  before  it;  houses  are  thrown 
down,  boats  lifted  up  and  driven  about  like  faggots. 
The  cormorants,  ranged  in  rows  along  their  solitary 
cliffs,  eye  the  wild  waters  in  silence,  starving  for  lack 
of  fish,  and  even  the  nimble  seagull  beats  about, 
screaming,  unable  to  make  way  against  the  storm. 

These  are  the  winter  gales — the  terror  alike  of 
Imsbandmen  and  fishers.  The  west-wind  begins  to 
blow  in  October,  and  gradually  increases  in  strength, 
till  all  the  terrors  of  the  tempest  are  achieved. 
Hail-storms,  rain-storms,  snow-storms  alternate,  with 
the  terriffc  wind  trumpeting  between  ;  though  the 
salt  sea-breath  is  so  potent,  even  in  severe  seasons,  that 
the  lasroons  seldom  freeze  and  the  snow  will  not  lie. 
The  wild,  wandering  birds — the  hooper,  the  bean- 
goose,  the  gray-lag,  all  the  tribes  of  ducks — gather  to- 
gether on  the  marshes,  sure  of  food  here,  though  the 
rest  of  the  north  be  frozen.  The  great  Arctic  seal  sits 
on  ITaskier  and  sails  through  the  Sound  of  Harris. 
xVbove  the  wildest  winds  are  heard  the  screams  of 
birds. 

Go,  in  December,  to  the  Sound  of  Harris  and  on 
some  stormy  day  gaze  on  the  wild  scene  around  you ; 
the  whirling  watei's,  sown  everywhere  with  isles  and 
rocks — ^liere  the  tide  foaming  round  and  round  in  an 
eddy  powerful  enough  to  drag  along  the  largest  ship — 
there  a  huge  patch  of  seaweed  staining  the  waves,  and 
betraying  the  lurking    reef  below.     In   the  distance 


236  ,         THE   LAND  OF   LORNE. 

loom  tlie  hills  of  IlarriB,  blue-white  with  snow,  and 
hidden  ever  and  anon  in  flying  mist.  Watch  the  ter- 
rors of  the  great  sound — the  countless  reefs  and  rocks, 
the  eddies,  the  furious,  wind-swept  waters  ;  and  pray 
for  the  strange  seaman  whose  fate  it  may  be  to  drive 
helpless  thither.  Better  the  great  ocean,  in  all  its  ter- 
ror and  might.  Tet,  through  that  fatal  gap,  barks, 
though  unpiloted,  have  more  than  once  driven  safely. 
Into  Loch  Maddy,  while  we  were  lying  there,  dashed 
a  water-logged  vessel,  laden  with  wood,  from  Norway, 
('aught  by  tempests  oif  the  Butt  of  Lewis,  she  had  run 
down  the  western  coast  of  the  Outer  Hebrides,  and  was 
in  dire  distress,  when,  as  a  last  resource,  it  was  deter- 
mined to  take  the  Sound.  No  man  on  board  knew 
the  place,  and  it  was  impossible  to  send  on  shore  for  a 
pilot.  On  they  di*ove,  the  skipper  working  with  his 
men,  the  lead-line  constantly  going,  the  watches  at 
bow  and  at  masthead  singing  out  whenever  any  dan- 
gerous spot  loomed  in  view.  All  along  the  coast  gath- 
ered the  island  people,  expecting  every  moment  to  see 
the  vessel  dashed  to  pieces ;  and  to  the  skipper's  fren- 
zied eye  they  were  wreckers  watching  for  their  prey. 
For  a  miracle,  the  vessel  went  safely  through,  w^ithout 
BO  much  as  a  scratch.  The  skipper,  with  bleeding 
hands  and  tearful  eyes,  brought  his  ship  into  Maddy. 
All  his  stores  were  gone,  save  a  few  barrels  of  gin, 
and  tliese  he  contrived  to  exchange  for  common  nec- 
essaries. Though  it  was  still  wild  weather,  and  though 
his  vessel  was  quite  unseaworthy,  he  was  bent  on 
pushing  forward  to  Liverpool.  Off  he  went,  and  after 
a  day's  absence  returned  again,  wild  and  anxious.  He 
had  beaten  as  far  as  Barra  Head,  and  being  checked 


GLIMPSES    OF    THE    OUTEIl    lIEBllIirES.       237 

there  bv  ;i  gale  from  tho  southwest,  had  been  com- 
])elled  to  return  as  he  had  come.  Again  he  drove 
forth,  and  disappeared  ;  and  again  he  reappeared, 
wikler  than  ever,  but  as  indomitable.  The  wind  had 
once  more  checked  him  off  Barra,  and  hurled  him 
back  to  Loch  INladdv.  lie  started  a  third  time,  and 
did  not  return.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  reached  his 
destination  in  safety,  and  that  when  he  next  goes 
afloat,  it  will  be  in  a  better  vessel. 

To  the  mind  of  a  seaman,  such  coasts  as  that  of 
the  Long  Island  can  scarcely  look  attractive  or  kindly  ; 
for  his  quick  eye  perceives  all  the  danger,  all  the 
ghastly  plotting  against  his  life.  Yet  in  the  summer- 
time the  broad  and  sandy  western  tracts  are  very 
beautiful  in  their  luxuriant  vegetation,  covered  with 
daisies,  buttercups,  and  the  lesser  orchids,  brightly 
intermingled  with  the  flowers  of  the  white  clover. 
They  are  quite  pastoral  and  peaceful,  despite  their 
proximity  to  the  great  waters. 

Indeed,  the  place  is  full  of  attractions,  directly  the 
vulgar  feeling  is  abandoned,  and  the  mind,  instead  of 
waiting  to  be  galvanized  by  some  powerful  effect, 
quietly  resigns  itself  to  the  spirit  of  the  scene.  Sight- 
seeing is  like  dram-drinking,  and  the  sight-seer,  like 
the  dram-drinker,  is  not  particular  about  the  quality, 
so  lonoj  as  the  dose  of  stimulant  is  strong  and  stiff. 

The  typical  tourist,  who  goes  into  ecstasies  over  tho 
Trossachs,  and  crawls  wondering  under  the  basaltic 
columns  of  Stafla,  would  not,  perhaps,  be  particularly 
stimulated  at  first  by  a  pull  up  one  of  the  numberless 
fjords  which  eat  their  winding  way  into  the  eastern 
coasts  of  the  Outer  Hebrides.     The  far-off  hills  around 


238  t-  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

8kiport  and  Maddy  are  not  tall  enougli  for  such  a 
modern,  and  tlie  sea  is  dull,  not  being  sensational,  but 
old-fashioned.  We,  on  the  other  hand,  who  find  it 
unnecessary  to  rush  far  for  wonders,  and  who  are  apt 
to  be  blind  to  nature's  more  obtrusive  beauties,  have 
a  greater  liking  for  these  quaint  old  fjords  than  for 
the  showy  Trossachs  or  the  splendid  Glencoe.  To 
float  through  them  alone,  in  a  small  boat,  on  a  quiet 
smnmer  gloaming,  is  marvellously  strange  and  eerie ; 
for  they  are  endless,  arm  growing  out  of  arm  just  as 
tlie  bourne  seems  reached  ;  winding  and  interwinding, 
sometimes  only  a  few  feet  in  depth,  at  others  broad 
and  deep — and  at  every  point  of  vantage  there  is 
something  new  to  look  upon.  Some  idea  of  the 
windings  of  the  tides  may  be  gained  from  the  state- 
ment that  Loch  Maddy  in  North  Uist,  although 
covering  only  ten  square  miles,  possesses  a  line  of 
coast  which,  measuring  all  the  various  islands,  creeks, 
and  bays,  has  been  calculated  to  ramify  over  three 
Imndred  miles.  For  picturesque  sea  depths,  swarm- 
ing with  rare  aquatic  plants,  and  for  variety  of  strange 
sea-birds,  these  fjords  are  unmatched  in  Britain  ;  and 
they  are  characterized  by  wonderful  effects  of  sun  and 
mist,  rainbow  apparitions,  fluent  lights  and  shadows. 
Pleasant  it  is,  in  still  weather,  to  lean  over  the  boat's 
side  and  watch  the  crystal  water-world  in  some 
quiet  nook,  vari-colored  with  rocks,  weeds,  and 
floating  tangle,  and  haunted  by  strange  images  of 
life.  You  are  back  in  the  great  crustacean  era,  when 
man  was  not.  Innumerable  shell-fish,  many  of  rare 
beauty,  surround  you  ;  wondrous  monsters,  magnified 
by  the  water,  stare  at  you  with  their  mysterious  eyes. 


GLIMPSES    OF   THE   OUTEll   HEBKII>feS.      239 

till  lIumaiHty  fodes  out  of  sight.  When  you  niiso 
your  head,  you  arc  dazzled,  and  ahnost  tremble  at  the 
new  sense  of  life. 

Ever  and  anon,  in  the  course  of  these  aquatic 
rambles,  you  meet  a  group  of  kelp-burners  gathered 
on  a  headland  or  promontory ;  and  a  capital  study 
it  would  make  for  an  artist  with  some  little  Rem- 
brandtish  mastery  over  the  shadows.  Clouding  the 
background  of  cold,  blue  sky,  the  thick  smoke  rises 
from  their  black  fire,  and  the  men  move  hither  and 
thither,  in  and  out  of  the  vapor,  raking  the  embers 
together,  piling  the  dry  seaweed  by  armsful  on  to  the 
sullen  flames.  As  they  flit  to  and  fro,  their  wild 
Gaelic  cries  seem  foreign  and  unearthly,  and  their 
unkempt  hair  and  ragged  garments  loom  strangely 
through  the  foul  air.  On  the  hill  slope  above  them, 
where  a  rude  road  curves  to  the  shore,  a  line  of  carts, 
each  horse  guided  by  a  woman,  comes  creaking  down 
to  the  wood-strewn  beach  to  gather  tangle  for  drying. 
The  women,  with  their  coarse  serge  jtetticoats  kilted 
high  and  colored  handkerchiefs  tied  over  their  heads, 
stride  like  men  at  the  horses'  heads,  and  shriek  the 
beasts  forward. 

Standing  on  Kenneth  Hill,  a  rocky  elevation  on  the 
north  side  of  Loch  Boisdale,  and  looking  westward 
on  a  summer  day,  one  has  a  fine  glimpse  of  Boisdale 
and  its  lagoons,  stretching  right  over  to  the  edge  of 
the  Western  Ocean,  five  miles  distant.  The  inn  and 
harbor,  with  the  fishing-boats  therein,  make  a  fine 
foreground,  and  thence  the  numerous  ocean  fjords, 
branching  this  way  and  that  like  the  stems  of  sea- 
weeds, stretch  g-listenino;  westward  into  the  land.     A 


240  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

little  inland,  a  number  of  liuts  cluster,  like  beavere' 
houses,  on  the  site  of  a  white  hisihwaj  ;  and  along 
the  highway  peasant  men  and  women,  mounted  or 
afoot,  come  wandering  down  to  the  port.  Far  as  the 
eye  can  see  the  land  is  quite  flat  and  low,  scarcely 
a  hillock  breaking  the  dead  level  until  the  rise  of  a 
row  of  low  sandhills  on  the  very  edge  of  the  distant 
sea.  The  number  of  fjords  and  lagoons,  large  and 
small,  is  almost  inconceivable ;  there  is  water  every- 
where, still  and  stagnant  to  the  eye,  and  so  constant 
is  its  presence  that  the  mind  can  scarcely  banish 
the  fancy  that  this  land  is  some  floating,  half-sub 
stantial  mass,  torn  up  in  all  places  to  show  the  sea 
below.  The  higliway  meanders  through  the  marshes 
until  it  is  quite  lost  on  the  other  side  of  the  island, 
where  all  grows  greener  and  brighter,  the  signs  of 
cultivation  more  noticeable,  the  human  habitations 
more  numerous.  Far  away,  on  the  long  black  line 
of  the  marshes,  peeps  a  spire,  and  the  white  church 
gleams  below,  with  school-house  and  hovels  clustering 
at  its  feet. 

A  prospect  neither  magnificent  nor  beautiful,  yet 
surely  full  of  fascination  ;  its  loneliness,  its  piteous 
human  touches,  its  very  dreariness,  win  without 
wooing  the  soul.  And  if  more  be  wanted,  wait  for 
the  rain — some  thin,  cold  "  smurr"  from  the  south, 
which  will  clothe  the  scene  with  gray  mist,  shut  out 
the  distant  sea,  and  brooding,  over  the  desolate  la- 
goons, draw  from  them  pale  and  beautiful  rainbows, 
which  come  and  go,  dissolve  and  grow,  swift  as  the 
colors  in  a  kaleidoscope,  touching  the  dreariest 
snatches  of  water  and  waste  with  all  the  wonders  of 


GLIMPSES    OF    THE    OUTER    HEBRIDES.      '^41 

the  prism.  Or  if  you  be  a  fair-weather  voyager, 
afraid  of  wetting  your  skin,  wait  for  the  sunset.  It 
will  not  be  such  a  sunset  as  you  have  been  accustomed 
to  on  English  uplands  or  among  high  mountains,  but 
something  suUener,  stranger,  and  more  sad.  From  a 
long,  deep  bar  of  cloud,  on  the  far-off  ocean  horizon, 
the  sun  will  gleam  round  and  red,  hanging  as  if 
moveless,  scarcely  tinting  the  deep,  watery  shadow  of 
the  sea,  but  turning  every  lagoon  to  blood.  There 
will  be  a  stillness  as  if  Nature  held  her  breath.  You 
will  have  no  sense  of  pleasure  or  wonder — only  hushed 
expectation,  as  if  something  were  going  to  happen ; 
but  if  you  are  a  saga-reader,  you  will  remember  the 
death  of  Balder,  and  mutter  the  rune.  Such  sunsets, 
alike  yet  ever  different,  we  saw,  and  they  are  not  to 
be  forgotten.  Then  most  deeply  did  the  soul  feel 
itself  in  the  true  land  of  the  glamour,  shut  out  wholly 
from  the  fantasies  of  mere  fairyland  or  the  grandeurs 
of  mere  spectacle.  The  clouds  may  shape  them- 
selves into  the  lurid  outlines  of  the  old  gods,  crying 

Suinken   i  Gruua  er 
Midgards  stad  ! 

the  mist  on  the  margins  of  the  pools  may  become  the 

gigantic  mtch-wife,  spinning  out  lives  on  her  bloody 

distaff,  and  croaking  a  prophecy ;  but  gentler  things 

may  not  intrude,  and  the  happy  sense  of  healthy  life 

dies  utterly  away. 

Pleasant  it  is,  after  such  an  hour,  to  wander  across 

the  bogs  and  mai-^hes,  and  come  down  on  the  margin 

of  a  little  lake,  while  the  homeward  passing  cattle  low 

in  the  gloaming.     You  are  now  in  fairyland.     With 
11 


242  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

young  buds  yellow,  and  flowers  as  M'hite  as  snow, 
floating  freely  among  the  floating  leaves,  the  water- 
lilies  gather,  and  catch  the  dusky  silver  of  the  moon. 
The  little  dab-chick  cries,  and  you  see  her  sailing,  a 
black  speck,  close  to  shore,  and  splashing  the  pool 
to  silver  where  slie  dives.  The  sky  clears,  and  the 
still  spaces  between  the  lilies  glisten  with  stars  whose 
broken  rays  shimmer  like  hoarfrost  and  touch  with 
crystal  the  edges  of  leaves  and  flowers.  You  are  a 
child  at  once,  and  think  of  Oberon. 

Neither  more  nor  less  than  we  have  described  them 
are  the  Outer  Hebrides ;  a  few  mountains,  endless 
stretches  of  peat  bogs  and  small  lagoons,  a  long  tract 
of  shell-sand  hillocks,  all  environed,  eaten  into,  and 
perpetually  shapened  afresh  by  the  never  resting  sea — 

"  Hebrid  itslcs. 
Set  far  amid  the  melancholy  main." 

Like  all  such  children  of  the  sea,  thev  flit  from  mood 
to  mood,  sometimes  terrible,  sometimes  miserable, 
peaceful  occasionally,  but  never  highly  gay.  Half  the 
year  round  they  are  misted  over  by  the  moist  oceanic 
rains — in  winter  the  sea  strews  them  anew  with  sea- 
weeds, shells,  and  drift  timber — and  for  a  few  davs  in 
the  year  they  bask  in  a  glassy  sea  and  behold  the 
midsummer  sun. 

The  rafters  of  most  of  the  dwellings  on  the  seashore 
are  composed  of  the  great  logs  of  drift-wood  which 
find  their  way  over  the  ocean  to  the  western  coasts — 
mighty  trees,  with  stumps  of  roots  and  branches  still 
remaining,  wafted  from  the  western  continents.  Many 
of  these  trunks  are  covered  with  the  foliage  of  sea- 


GLIMPSES    OF    THE    OUTER    HEBllIDES.      213 

weed,  and  adorned  with  barnacles — wliicli,  it  is  Btill 
popularly  believed,  are  geese  in  the  embryo.  Others 
arc  the  masts  and  yards  of  ships. 

As  has  before  been  noted,  the  people  of  these  isles 
are  very  poor.  Their  chief  regular  occupation,  not  a 
very  profitable  one  now,  is  the  manufacture  of  kelp ; 
but  they  work  during  a  portion  of  tiie  year  at  the  cod, 
ling  and  herring  fisheries.  At  certain  seasons  of  the 
year,  they  reap  an  excellent  harvest  out  of  the  cuddies, 
or  young  lithe,  which  appear  on  the  coast  in  numbers 
nearly  as  great  as  the  herring  fry.  They  are  taken  by 
thousands  in  long  bag  nets  tied  to  the  end  of  a  long 
pole.  In  hard  times  the  people  subsist  almost  entirely 
on  shell-fish,  such  as  cockles  and  mussels,  which 
abound  on  the  endless  sea-coast.  Most  of  them  have 
small  crofts,  and  a  few  of  them  are  able  to  keep  cows. 
Here  and  there  reside  wealthy  tacksmen,  who  rent 
large  farms,  employ  a  good  deal  of  labor,  and  people 
the  wastes  with  cattle  and  sheep.  These  tacksmen 
rule  the  land  with  quite  arbitrary  sway.  In  their 
hands  lies  the  welfare  of  the  population.  Many  of 
them  appear  to  be  honest,  kindly  men,  but  there  are 
evidences  that  some  of  them  still  keep  their  depen- 
dents as  "  scallags,"  in  virtual  slavery. 

Walk  from  one  end  of  the  Uists  to  the  other  and 
you  will  not  meet  a  smiling  face.  It  is  not  that  the 
people  are  miserable,  though  they  might  be  happier ; 
nor  is  it  that  they  are  apathetic,  though  they  could  be 
more  demonstrative.  With  one  and  all  of  them  life 
is  a  solemn  business ;  they  have  little  time  for  sport 
— indeed,  their  disposition  is  not  sportive.  You  must 
not  joke  with   them — they  do  not   understand;  not 


244  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

because  they  are  stupid,  not  because  they  are 
suspicious  of  your  good  faith,  but  merely  because 
their  visions,  unlike  the  visions  of  brilliant  races,  are 
steady  rather  than  fitful— seeing  the  world  and  things 
under  one  changeless  ray  of  light,  instead  of  by 
wonderful  flashes.  From  the  beginning  to  the  end 
they  have  the  same  prospect,  without  summer,  with- 
out flowers.  AVild  mirth-making  in  such  a  world 
would  look  like  mountebanking  among  graves. 

Yet  how  tender  they  are  !  how  exquisitely  fresh  and 
kind  !  They  are  the  most  home-loving  people  in  the 
world ;  that  is  one  of  the  chief  reasons  why  they  do 
not  venture  more  on  the  water  at  greater  distances 
from  the  family  croft.  One  meal  under  the  dear  old 
roof,  with  the  women  and  the  little  ones  gathered 
aroundabout,  is  sweeter  than  a  dozen  at  a  distance  or 
on  board  ship  ;  hard  fare  and  sorry  sleeping  in  a  hut 
on  the  waste,  where  the  wife  can  rear  her  young  and 
the  old  mother  spin  in  the  ingle,  is  to  be  preferred  to 
fine  service  and  good  clothes  anywhere  else  in  the 
world.  There  is  an  old  Gaelic  saying  common  here, 
"  A  house  without  the  cry  of  bairns  is  like  a  farm 
without  kye  or  sheep."  Next  to  this  love  of  home, 
this  yearning  to  be  the  center  of  a  little  circle,  there 
dwells  in  the  people  of  the  islands  a  passionate  fond- 
ness for  localities.  Uist  is  brighter  to  most  than  any 
promised  land,  however  abundant  the  store  of  milk 
and  honey.  They  know  the  place  is  bare  and  deso- 
late, they  know  that  it  becomes  a  sore,  sore  pinch  to  live 
on  the  soil,  but  they  know  also  that  their  fiithers  lived 
here  before  them,  wedded  here,  died  here,  and  (they 
fervently   believe)   went  virtuously  to   heaven   from 


GLIMTSES    OF    THE    OUTER    HEBRIDES.       245 

here.  True,  some  of  the  younger  and  livelier  spirits 
express  their  willingness  to  emigrate,  and  do  emigrate 
occasionally,  exhilnting  under  the  influence  of  licjuor 
plentifully  distributed  all  the  signs  of  exhilaration  ; 
but  such  are  exceptions,  corrupted  youngsters,  canglit 
too  early  by  the  yellow  itch  of  gold.  Nothing  is 
more  noticeable  in  these  islands  than  the  demoralizing 
influence  of  civilization  on  the  race.  The  farther  one 
recedes  from  the  seaports,  from  the  large  farms  of  the 
wealthy  tacksman,  from  the  domain  of  the  shopkeeper 
and  the  schoolmaster,  the  brighter  do  the  souls  of  the 
cotters  grow,  the  opener  their  hands,  the  purer  their 
morjfls,  and  the  happier  their  homes.  Whenever  the 
great  or  little  Sassenach  comes,  he  leaves  a  dirty  trail 
like  the  slime  of  the  snake.  He  it  is  who  abuses  the 
people  for  their  laziness,  points  sneeringly  at  their 
poor  houses,  spits  scorn  on  their  wretchedly  cultivated 
scraps  of  land  ;  and  he  it  is  who,  introducing  the  noble 
goad  of  greed,  turns  the  ragged  domestic  virtues  into 
well-dressed  prostitutes,  heartless  and  eager  for  hire. 
In  the  whole  list  of  jobbers,  excepting  only  the 
"  mean  whites  "  of  the  Southern  States  of  America, 
there  are  few  paltrier  follows  than  the  men  who  stand 
by  Highland  doors  and  interpret  between  ignorance 
and  the  great  proprietors.  They  libel  the  race  they 
do  not  understand,  they  deride  the  aflections  they  are 
too  base  to  cultivate,  they  rob  and  plunder,  and 
would  exterminate  wholly,  the  rightful  masters  of  the 
soil.  Thev  are  the  acrents  of  civilization  in  such 
places  as  the  Outer  Hebrides;  so  that,  if  God  does 
not  help  the  civilized,  it  is  tolerably  clear  that  the 
Devil  will. 


240  THE    LAND    OF    LOIINE. 

In  the  islands,  beware  of  the  civilized.  The 
cultivated  islander,  like  the  Sassenach,  gives  you 
nothing  in  kindliness,  charges  you  double  for  every- 
thing, and  sees  you  go  without  any  grief  save  that 
of  lialf-satisfied  greed.  liecollect,  nevertheless,  that 
he  is  doing  well,  tills  his  ground  well,  and  by-and-by, 
perhaps,  will  keep  a  little  store,  going  on  from  little 
to  biff  tradino;,  till  he  owns  both  land  and  boats. 
The  poor,  uncivilized  islander,  on  the  other  hand, 
makes  you  welcome  to  his  hearth,  gives  you  "  bite 
and  sup  "  of  the  best,  talks  to  you  with  free  heart 
and  honest  sympathy,  and  is  only  hurt  and  pained 
if  you  try  to  repay  hospitality  with  money.  No 
matter  how  poor  the  hut,  the  stranger  must  have 
something — if  not  a  drink  of  milk,  the  croft  being 
too  poor  to  support  a  cow,  at  least  a  draught  of 
water  in  a  clean  basin.  And  the  smile  that  sweetens 
such  gifts  is  like  Christ's  turning  water  into  wine. 
AYe  shall  not  soon  forget  the  pain  and  indignation 
of  an  old  islander,  while  telling  of  his  experience 
once  in  the  Lowlands.  He  had  been  walking  far, 
and  was  very  thirsty,  when  he  descried  a  snug 
cottage,  with  a  clean,  sonsy  housewife  standing  on 
the  thresliold.  "  Good  wife,"  he  said,  after  the 
usual  greeting,  "  I  am  very  dry ;  can  you  give  me 
a  drink  of  milk  ?  "  "  We  have  nae  milk,"  was  the 
reply.  "  A  drink  of  water  then,"  said  the  wanderer. 
"  Aweel,"  said  the  woman,  "if  you  like  i'll  show  ye 
the  ^/_?<?//,  but  we  hoe  to  fetch  tlie  water  ourseVs ! " 
"My  father  and  my  mother,"  Baid  our  informant, 
after  recounting  the  anecdote — "  my  father  and  my 
mother  would  liave  risen  screeching  from  their  graves, 


GLIMPSEH    OF    THE    OUTER    IIEB1UDE8.       247 

had  I  greeted  the  stranger  at  their  door  witli  such  a 
speech." 

Such  are  some  of  the  people's  virtues — philopro- 
genitiveness  (rather  a  doubtful  virtue  this  in  tlie  eyes 
of  some  political  economists!),  honesty,  hospitality. 
[N^ote,  too,  a  few  of  tlieir  faults,  or,  as  some  would 
say,  their  vices.  Their  stanchest  friend  cannot  say 
that  they  are  over-clean.  They  will  sometimes  litter 
like  pigs,  when  by  a  little  trouble  they  might  live  like 
human  beings ;  and  they  do  not  always  comb  their 
hair.  Then,  again,  they  don't  and  won't  go  in  for 
"  improvements."  The  house  their  parents  lived  in 
is  good  enongh  for  them — a  herring-barrel  is  good 
enough  for  a  chimney,  clay  is  good  enough  for  a 
floor.  They  would  feel  chilly  in  a  bigger  dwelling. 
They  are  used  to  the  thick  peat-smoke,  the  pig  by 
the  fire,  the  hens  on  the  rafters — perhaps,  too,  in  the 
season,  the  oalf  in  a  corner.  A  philosopher  may  say 
— "  Why  not  ?  " 

One  picture  of  a  cottage  may  be  as  good  as  a 
dozen.  Imagine,  then,  a  wall,  five  or  six  feet  thick, 
tapering  inward,  and  thereon,  springing  about  a  foot 
within  the  outer  edge  of  the  wall,  a  roof  of  turf  and 
thatch,  held  down  by  heather  ropes  set  close  together, 
and  having  at  either  ends  great  stones  abont  twenty 
pounds  in  weight.  The  interior  is  divided  by  a 
wooden  partition  into  two  portions,  the  "  but  "  and 
the  "  ben."  The  calf  is  in  a  corner,  and  the  hens 
roost  on  the  beams  overhead.  The  floor  is  clay, 
baked  hard  with  the  heat  of  the  peat  fire.  The  roof 
is  soot-black,  having  a  hole  in  the  top,  with  a  herring 
barrel  for  a  chimney.      From  the  center  descends  a 


248  THE    LAND    OF   LOIINE. 

heavy  chain,  with  a  hook  at  the  end  whereon  to  hang 
the  great  black  kettle.  The  mistress  of  the  house 
squats  on  her  hams  at  the  door,  and,  leaning  her 
cheek  on  her  hands,  watches  you  approach.  The  pig 
is  paddling  in  the  puddle  close  by.  Perhaps,  if  the 
house  is  prosperous,  the  pony  is  grazing  a  short 
distance,  with  his  forelegs  tied  to  prevent  his  run- 
ning away. 

A  stranger,  wandering  here,  will  be  struck  by  the 
fact  that,  although  the  dwellings  are  bo  wretched,  the 
dress  of  the  poor  inhabitants  is  remarkably  good, 
showing  few  signs  of  poverty.  Almost,  all  wear  home- 
spun, and  as  much  of  it  as  possible — stout,  coarse 
tweeds  for  the  men,  and  thick  flannels  for  the  women. 
Nearly  every  house  has  a  spinning-wheel,  many 
houses  possess  a  loom  ;  a  few  have  both  ;  and  a  busy 
sight  it  is  to  see  the  comely  daughter  working  at  the 
loom,  while  the  mother  spins  at  her  side,  and  even 
the  man  knits  himself  a  pair  of  stockings  while  he 
smokes  his  pipe  in  the  corner.  The  men,  as  well  as 
the  women  are  excellent  weavers. 

Another  point  that  will  strike  a  stranger,  in  the 
Uists  especially,  is  the  enormous  number  of  ponies. 
Where  they  come  from,  what  they  are  useful  for,  we 
have  been  unable  to  find  out ;  but  they  literally 
swarm,  and  nnist  be  a  serious  encumbrance  to  the 
population.  We  were  offered  a  splendid  little  filly 
for  thirty  shillings. 

Thus  far  nothing  has  been  said  of  the  dec]),  inner 
life  of  this  people.  Little  as  we  have  seen,  and  less 
as  we  understand,  of  that^  we  see  and  underetand 
enough  for  great  emotion.      Put  the  spiritual  nature 


GLIMrSES    OF    THE    OUTER    IIEBIIIDES.       '-^-^9 

aside  in  estimating  capabilities,  and  you  exclude  all 
that  is  greatest  and  most  signilicant.  Now,  directly 
the  mental  turn  of  the  islanders  is  apprehended,  it  is 
clear  at  a  glance  why  they  must  inevitably  sink  and 
perish  in  the  race  with  the  southerner  or  east- 
countryman.  They  are  too  ruminant  by  nature,  too 
slow  to  apprehend  new  truths.  They  are  saddened 
by  a  deep,  clinging  sense  that  the  world  is  haunted. 
They  have  faith  in  witchcraft,  in  prophecy,  in 
charms.  If  a  stranger  looks  too  keenly  at  a  child, 
they  pray  God  to  avert  "  the  evil  eye."  They  believe 
that  gold  and  gems  are  bidden  in  obscure  corners 
of  the  hills,  but  that  only  supernatural  powers  know 
where.  Tliey  have  seen  the  "  Men  of  Peace,"  or  Scot- 
tish fays,  with  bhie  bonnets  on  their  heads,  pushing 
from  shore  the  boat  that  is  found  adrift  days  after- 
ward. Some  of  their  old  women  retain  the  sec- 
ond sight.  Strange  sounds — sometimes  like  human 
voices,  at  others  like  distant  bagpipes — are  heard 
about  their  dwelhngs  when  any  one  is  going  to  die. 
they  tremble  at  the  side  of  "  fairy  wells."  They 
have  the  Gruagach,  or  Banshee.  In  short,  they  have 
a  credulous  turn  of  mind,  not  entirely  disbelieving, 
even  when  they  know  the  evidence  to  be  very 
doubtful,  for  they  aver  that  the  world  is  fuller  of 
wonders  than  any  one  man  knows.^  In  their  daily 
life,  at  births,  at  weddings,  at  funerals,  they  keep 
such  observances  as  imply  a  deep  sense  of  the  pa- 

*  MacCulloch,  writing  in  1824  speaks  of  such  superstitions  as 
virtually  extinct  over  all  the  Highlands.     "  The  EQghlanders," 
he  says, "  now  believe  as  much  as  their  Pictish  and  Saxon  neigh- 
bors ;  "  and  he  proceeds,  in  his  usual  silly  fashion,  to  rake  up  all 
11* 


250  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

tlietic  nature  of  human  ties.  The  voices  of  winds 
and  waters  are  in  their  hearts,  and  they  passionately 
believe  in  God. 

It  is  still  the  custom,  in  the  TJists  and  in  Barra,  to 
gather  together  on  the  long  winter  nights,  and  listen 
to  the  strange  stories  recited  by  aged  men  and  women. 
These  stories  have  been  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation,  and  are  very  curious  indeed,  dealing 
with  traditions  obviously  originating  in  pre-historic 
periods.*  The  listeners  know  all  about  Ossian  and 
Fingal,  and  regard  them  almost  as  real  beings.  Here 
and  there  in  the  islands  reside  men  famous  for  their 
good  stories,  of  which  they  are  very  proud.  Some  of 
them  are  familiar  with  ancient  poems,  full  of  sea 
sounds  and  the  cries  of  the  wind.  With  these  stories 
and  poems — tales  of  enchanted  lands  and  heavenly 
music — they  keep  their  hearts  up  in  a  desolate  and 
lonely  world  ;  but  on  all  such  subjects  they  are  very 
silent  to  the  stranger,  until  he  has  managed  to  win 
their  confidence  and  disarm  their  pride. 

the  large  names  he  can  muster,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that 
their  superstitions  were  always  plagiarisms  of  the  most  common- 
place kind  With  his  usual  felicity  in  quoting  at  random,  he 
throws  no  light  whatever  on  the  subject.  We  wonder  if  he  ever 
came  in  contact  with  a  Celt  of  the  true  breed.  Doubtless  ;  but, 
lacking  insight,  he  saw  no  speculation  in  the  visionary  eyes.  Even 
a  long  night  s  talk  with  Ilamish  Sliaw  would  have  had  no  effect 
on  this  queer  compound  of  pedantry  and  skittishness — this  man 
of  prodigious  Latinisms  and  elephantine  jokes.  Yet  his  letters 
were  addressed  to  Walter  Scott,  who  was  doubtless  much  edified 
by  their  familiarity  and  endless  verbiage. 

*  For  a  full  feast  of  Highland  legends  of  the  traditional  kind, 
consult  Mr.  Campbell's  "  Popular  Tales." 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE   OUTER   HEBRIDES.      251 

With  such  ;i  people,  religion  is  naturally  a  vital 
thing,  important  us  life  itself.  The  poor  women  will 
travel  miles  on  miles  to  hear  mass,  or  (if  Protestants) 
to  take  the  communion.  It  is  held  an  evil  thing  to 
miss  religious  ceremonial  on  the  Sabbath.  In  all  af- 
fairs of  joy  or  sorrow,  there  is  one  straight  appeal  to 
the  Fountain-IIead — the  Lord  God  who  reigns  in 
heaven.  Dire  is  the  suffering  that  can  be  borne  when 
the  Bufferer  is  told  by  the  priest  that  it  is  "God's 
will." 

What  dullness  !  what  a  civilization  !  How  inferior 
are  these  benighted  beings  to  their  instructors — the 
petty  tradesmen  and  the  small  factors  !  How  blessed 
will  the  islands  be  when  the  present  demoralizing  in- 
fluences are  withdrawn,  and  the  paupers  possess  in 
their  place  the  huckster's  scales  and  the  grocer's  tal- 
low candle  ! 


'2[)2  THE   LAND    01''   LOllNE. 


CHAPTER   Xn. 

BPORT    IN    THE  WILDS. 

Sealguir  thu  mar  a  "nihai-bhas  thu  GeadJi  a's  Corr'  a's  Orotach.—'' 0 
Bportsman,  when  killest  thou  goose,  and  heron,  and  cniley/f  "—IIigfda7id 
Froverb. 


The  Sportsmen  and  their  Dog— The  Hunter's  Badge— The  Weapons- 
Shooting  in  the  Fjords— Eiders,  Cormorants,  Ciu-lcws- Duck-Shooting 
near  Loch  Boisdale— The  Tern  at  Anchor  in'Lock  Huport— Starvation— 
Wild-Goosc  Shooting  on  Loch  Bee— The  Shepherd's  Gifts— Goose-Shoot- 
ing on  Loch  Phlogibeg — TheMdancholy  Loch— Breeding-Places  of  the 
Wild-Fowl— Rain-storm  — "Bonny  Kilmeny "  — Short  Rations— Tho 
Passing  Ship— Red  Deer,  Salmon,  and  Eagles — Corbies  and  Ravens— 
Seal-Shooting  in  the  Maddy  Fjords— Reflection  on  Wild  Sports  in  Gen- 
eral. 

If  the  gentle  reader  be  a  sportsman  of  the  usual 
breed,  serious,  professional,  perfect  in  training,  a  dead 
shot  at  any  reasonable  distance,  and  at  any  object, 
from  a  snipe  to  a  buffalo,  it  is  with  no  respectful  feel- 
ings that  he  will  hear  of  our  hunting  raids  through 
the  Iligliland  wilds.  We  were  three — the  Wanderer, 
Hamish  Shaw,  and  the  dog  Schneider,  so  named  in  a 
fit  of  enthusiasm,  after  seeing  Mr.  Jefferson's  "  Kip 
Yan  Winkle."  The  Wanderer  would  have  been  a 
terrible  fellow  in  the  field  if  he  had  not  been  short- 
sighted, and  in  the  habit  of  losing  his  spectacles.     As 


SPORT    IN    THE    WILDS.  253 

it  is,  he  was  at  least  terribly  in  earnest,  and  could  con- 
trive to  hit  a  large  object,  if  he  did  not  aim  at  it  witli. 
any  particular  attempt  to  be  accurate.  Hamish  Shaw 
was  not  great  at  flying  game,  but  he  was  mightily 
successful  in  sneaking  up  for  close  shots  at  unsus- 
pecting and  sitting  conies,  and  his  eye  was  as  sharp  as 
a  backwoodsman's  in  picking  up  objects  at  a  distance. 
The  third  member  of  the  party,  Schneider,  the  dog,  was 
of  the  gentler  sex,  wayward,  willful,  for  the  lack  of 
careful  training  during  her  infancy,  apt  to  take  her 
own  way  in  hunting  matters,  until  brought  to  a  due 
sense  of  decorum  by  a  vigorous  application  of  the 
switch.  She  was,  in  fact,  a  noble  specimen  of  the 
species  Briggs,  having  been  trained  by  the  Wanderer 
himself,  with  the  usual  triumphant  result  in  such 
cases ;  so  that,  if  no  sheep  caught  her  eye,  and  a  keen 
watch  was  kept  upon  her  movements,  she  could  be  de- 
pended on  for  a  stalk  or  a  chase  quite  as  much  as 
either  of  her  masters.  Though  she  could  not  point  or 
set,  she  was  a  tolerable  retriever,  and  few  dogs  of  any 
kind  could  match  her  for  long  and  steady  labor  in  the 
water. 

Now,  it  was  the  fixed  detemiination  of  the  Wander- 
er, on  again  roaming  northward,  once  and  forever  to 
prove  his  title  to  the  hunter's  badge,  by  killing,  ac- 
cording to  the  requirements  of  the  old  Highland  for- 
mula, a  red  deer,  a  salmon,  an  eagle,  a  seal,  and  a 
wild-swan,  every  one  of  which  he  religiously  swore  to 
Bkin  and  stuff  as  eternal  credentials,  testifying  unmis- 
takably that  he  was  a  man  of  prowess  in  the  field. 
All  these,  of  course,  had  to  be  slain  single-handed,  un- 
aided by  any  more  complicated  weapons  of  destruc- 


254  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE 

tion  than  the  rifle,  the  fowling-piece,  and  the  rod. 
Cunningly  enough,  he  had  fixed  on  Uist  and  the  ad- 
jacent islands  as  an  excellent  place  to  begin  his  labors, 
and  perhaps  achieve  the  crowning  honors  of  them  all. 
The  red  deer,  he  knew,  were  certainly  not  numerous 
there;  but  the  system  of  stalking  them  places  the 
possibilities  strongly  in  favor  of  the  hunter,  who  lies 
securely  hidden,  close  to  one  of  the  paths  the  game 
is  sure  to  take  when  driven  by  boatmen  from  the  ad- 
jacent small  islands  where  they  feed.  Salmon  were 
plentiful  in  the  great  lochs  communicating  with  the 
sea,  and  in  some  of  the  larger  rivers.  The  lesser  seals 
swarmed  at  all  times,  while  during  winter  even  the 
great  Arctic  monster  brooded  on  Ilaskeir,  and  played 
splashingly  at  leapfrog  through  the  Sound  of  Harris. 
Here  and  there,  hovering  over  the  inaccessible  peaks, 
poised  the  eagle,  in  all  the  glory  of  his  freedom,  while 
the  ravens  croaked  jealously  on  the  shadowy  crags 
below.  As  for  the  hoopers,  solitary  specimens  had 
been  known  to  alight  on  the  lonely  lochans  even  dur- 
ing the  sunny  season,  and  in  winter  the  huge  migra- 
tants  landed  in  swarms — no  very  difficult  mark  for  the 
hunter's  bullet  or  "  swan-post." 

These  were  the  mighty  game,  the  hierarchy  of  the 
hunter's  heaven — ^beautiful,  distant,  not  readily  to  be 
won,  until  drawn  down  by  the  music  of  the  whizzing 
ball.  But  the  Wanderer  was  not  proud ;  he  had  an 
eye  to  lesser  game,  and  being  inoculated  at  that  time 
with  the  least  bit  of  the  naturalist's  enthusiasm,  he 
longed  greedily  for  additions  to  his  museum.  Where- 
fore the  eider-duck,  and  the  merganser,  and  the  grebe, 
and  all  the  various  tribes  of  sea-birds  and  land-birds?. 


SPOirr    IN   THE   WILDS.  255 

were  carefully  marked  for  addition  to  the  list  of  speci- 
mens culled  by  that  steadfast  hand.  Then  there  was 
the  cabin-table  to  be  catered  for ;  and  rapturously  was 
it  noted  that  wild-ducks,  and  plovers,  and  moor-fowl, 
and  conies  were  numerous  in  all  the  islands,  and  that 
the  monster  wild-goose,  a  still  more  noble  quarry,  was 
breeding  in  seeming  security  in  the  hearts  of  all  the 
greater  moorland  lochs.* 

*  In  that  curious  and  scarce  little  book  on  the  Western  Hebri- 
des, published  by  the  Rev.  John  Lane  Buchanan,  in  1793,  there  is 
a  marvelous  account  of  the  ornithological  treasures  to  be  found 
in  the  islands.  The  naivete  with  which  the  reverend  gentleman 
retails  his  wonders  is  very  comical : 

•'  The  species  of  land  and  sea-fowls  over  all  this  country,"  he 
begins,  "  are  too  many  to  be  mentioned  in  so  limited  a  work  as 
this.  Tarmachans,  plovers,  blackbirds,  starlings  (or  dimddan), 
red  muir  cocks  and  hens  ducks  and  wild-geese  by  thousands, 
particularly  on  the  plains  of  South  Uist,  and  elsewhere  ;  wood- 
cocks, snipes,  ravens,  carrion-crows,  herons,  bats,  owls,  all  kinds 
of  hawks  and  eagles,  so  large  and  strong,  that  they  carry  off 
lambs,  kids,  fawns,  and  the  weaker  kind  of  sheep  and  foala. 
They  have  been  known  to  attack  even  cows,  horses,  and  stags  ; 
and  their  nests  are  frequently  found  to  be  plentifully  supplied 
with  fish,  which,  in  what  are  called  plays  of  fish,  they  pick  up 
from  tlie  surface  of  the  sea. 

''  A  species  of  robbery,  equally  singular  and  cruel,  was  lately 
practised  in  this  country  very  commonly,  and  sometimes  at  this 
day,  in  which  the  eagles  are  the  principal  actors.  The  thieves, 
coming  upon  the  eaglets  in  their  nests,  in  the  absence  of  their 
dams,  sew  up  the  extremity  of  the  great  gut ;  so  that  the  poor 
creatures,  tortured  by  obstructions,  express  their  sense  of  pain  in 
frequent  and  loud  screams.  The  eagle,  imagining  their  cries  to 
proceed  from  hunger,  is  unwearied  in  the  work  of  bringing  in 
t'resh  prey,  to  satisfy,  as  he  thinks,  their  craving  appetites.  But 
all  that  spoil  is  carried  home  by  the  thieves  at  night,  when  they 
come  to  give  a  momentary  relief  to  the  eaglets,  for  the  purpose 
ct  prolonging,  for  their  own.  base  ends,  their  miserable  existence. 


25u  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

Tliese  were  the  weapons :  a  Snider  rifle,  a  double- 
baiTel  breech-loader,  good  for  stopping  small  game  on 
the  hillsides  ;  and  a  long  shoulder  duck-gun.  Big  Ben- 
jamin by  name,  good  for  any  or  every  thing  at  a  hun- 

Tliis  infernal  practice  is  now  wearing  fast  away,  being  strictly 
watched  by  the  gentlemen,  and  severely  punished.  Mr.  Mac- 
Kenzie,  for  every  eagle  killed  in  Lewis,  gives  a  half-crown.  One 
of  those  large  eagles  was  taken  in  the  Isle  of  Hemes,  at  Tarbert, 
together  with  a  large  turbot,  in  which  the  animal  had  fastened 
its  talons,  when  asleep  at  the  surface  of  the  water,  so  as  not  to  be 
able  to  disengage  them.  The  eagle,  with  his  large  wings  ex- 
panded like  sails,  drove  before  the  wind  into  the  harbor,  where 
lie  was  taken  alive  (his  feet  being  entangled  in  the  turbot)  by  the 
country  people. 

"  Birds  of  passage,  of  several  kinds,  are  seen  over  all  the  isles. 
Swans,  cuckoos,  swallows,  lapwings,  plovers,  etc.,  and  wild-fowls. 
of  several  kinds,  rendered  tame,  are  often  seen  about  the  yards, 
dunghills,  and  doors  of  houses,  among  the  poultry. 

"  The  Bishop  Carara,  or  Bunubhuachil,  is  larger  than  any  goose, 
of  a  brown  color,  the  inside  of  the  wing  white,  the  bill  long  and 
broad.  It  dives  quicker  than  any  other  bird.  It  was  never  known 
to  fly,  the  wings  being  too  short  to  carry  a  weight  seldom  under 
but  often  above,  sixteen  pounds. 

"  The  black  cormorant  is  not  held  in  much  estimation  by  the 
islanders ;  but  such  as  have  white  feathers  in  their  wings,  and 
white  down  on  their  bodies,  are  famous  for  making  soup  or  broth 
of  a  delicate  taste  and  flavor. 

"  The  Western  Hebrid(>s  abound  in  solan-geese,  seagulls,  and 
singing-ducks, of  a  size  somewhat  less  than  that  of  common  ducks. 
They  are  constantly  employed,  eithe''  in  diving  for  sand-eels, 
which  are  of  a  speckled  color,  like  leeches,  or  in  sitting  together 
in  flocks,  and  singing,  which  is  heard  at  the  distance  of  half  a 
mile,  and  is  accounted  very  pleasing  music. 

"  The  duck  calh^d  the  Crawgiabh,  is  larger  than  a  Muscovy 
duck,  and  almost  tame — you  may  approach  very  near  it  before  it 
takes  wing — and  is  frequently  kept  by  gentlemen  among  tlie 
other  poultry. 


SPOKT    IN    THE   WILDS.  257 

clred  yards,  and  certain,  if  loaded  with  the  duo  amount 
of  shot  and  powder,  to  stretch  low  the  unwary  shoot- 
er with  its  sharp  recoil.  Theii  there  was  the  rod,  a 
slight  tiling,  but  clever  and  pliant,  besides  being  very 
portable,  and  the  six  or  seven  kinds  of  Hies — the  dark 
wild-drake's  wing,   with  white  tip,  being  found  the 

"  Rain-Ooose. — This  fowl  is  always  heard  at  a  great  distance 
betote  a  storm  ;  it  is  almost  as  large  as  a  goose. 

"  DrUlechaii,  or  Water-Magpie. — This  bird  is  larger  than  a  land- 
magpie,  beautifully  speckled,  with  a  long,  sharp,  and  strong  bill, 
red  as  blood.  It  nevei  swims,  but  Hies  from  place  to  place,  fol- 
lowing the  ebb,  picking  up  spout-fish.  They  are  silent  during 
the  flow  of  the  tide,  and  begin  to  whistle  the  moment  it  turns. 

"  Stamngs. — This  bird  appears  in  spring  on  these  coasts,  about 
the  size  of  a  hawk,  with  long,  sharp-pointed  wings,  extremely 
noisy  and  daring.  They  are  speckled,  but  the  prevailing  color  is 
white. 

"  Fasgatar. — This  bird  is  of  blackish-blue,  as  large  as  a  hawk, 
and  is  constantly  pursuing  the  starnags  through  the  air,  to  force 
them  to  throw  out  of  their  mouths  whatever  they  have  eaten  ; 
and  the  vile  creatures  catch  every  atom  of  wlip.t  the  others  throw 
out  before  it  reaches  the  water.  It  will  sometimes  venture  to  sit 
on  any  boat,  if  the  passengers  have  provisions,  and  throw  out 
any,  by  way  of  encouraging  its  approaches. 

"  Wild  Daves. — Every  cave  and  clift  is  full  of  wild  doves." 

The  above  needs  a  little  comment.  The  eagle  story  may  be 
taken  at  its  worth ;  but  the  rain-goose  and  the  Bishop  Carara 
fairly  puzzle  us — unless  by  the  latter  is  meant  the  loon.  The 
driUedian,  which  has  a  bill  "as  red  as  blood,"  and  which 
whistles  "  at  the  turn  of  the  tide,"  is,  of  course,  the  little  seapie, 
or  oyster-catcher.  The  starnags  may  be  a  species  of  gull,  and 
the  fasgaiar,  the  herring-hawk,  so  hateful  to  honest  fishers. 
As  for  the  singing-duck,  the  only  bird  at  all  answering  to  the  de- 
scription is  the  ice-duck,  whose  strangely  eerie  cry  is  perhaps 
"  pleasing,"  but,  assuredly,  very  melancholy.  "  Calloo  !  calloo  !  " 
it  moans  aloud  during  windy  weather,  in  a  voice  like  the  cry  of 
a  child  in  mortal  pain. 


258  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

finest  for  trout  in  all  those  gloomy  waters.  Besides 
these,  there  was  the  telescope,  taken  in  preference  to 
a  binocular  field-glass,  as  being  at  once  more  power- 
ful and  more  sportsmanlike — but  voted  a  bore  in  the 
sequel,  always  getting  lost  if  carried  in  the  hands,  and 
when  slung  over  the  shoulders  by  a  strap,  constantly 
dangling  forward  in  the  way  of  the  gun  when  the 
shooter  stooped,  or  suddenly  loosening  at  the  critical 
moment,  before  firing,  to  scare  the  purposed  victim 
away  with  a  savage  rattle  ! 

There  were  two  ways  of  hunting — on  foot,  over  the 
moors,  and  on  water,  through  the  winding  fjords.  Of 
the  two,  we  preferred  the  latter — deeming  it  the  more 
enjoyable,  and  less  wearisome  to  the  body. 

Floating  hither  and  thither  with  the  lug-sail,  a 
light  air  guiding  the  punt  surely,  though  slowly,  to- 
ward the  victims,  Ilamish  at  the  helm,  Schneider  fret- 
ting in  the  bottom,  the  Wanderer  crouching  with 
cocked  gun  in  the  bows,  we  soon  accumulated  speci- 
mens of  the  many  species  of  ducks,  the  male  and  fe- 
male eider,  the  black  guillemot,  the  herring-hawk,  the 
black  scart  and  green  shag,  and  the  calloo.  All  and 
each  of  these  birds  we  roasted  and  tasted  after  the 
skinning,  having  determined  to  give  a  fair  trial  to 
every  morsel  that  fell  to  rod  or  gun  ;  out  of  them  all, 
the  only  eatable  birds  were  the  eiders,  and  to  devour 
them,  with  a  relish  would  require  an  appetite.  As 
for  the  scart,  angels  and  ministers  of  graco  defend  us 
from  that  taste  again  1  The  rakings  of  greasiest  ship's 
pantry,  the  scrapings  of  the  foulest  cook's  colander, 
mingled  with  meat  from  the  shambles  and  stinking 
fish  from  the  seashore,  could  not  surpass  its  savor  1 


yroKT  IN  Till:  wilds  259 

Yet  the  fislienneii  praise  it  hugely,  and  devour  it 
with  greed.  At  St.  Kilda,  where  the  chief  diet  of  tlie 
iiiliabitaiits  consists  of  sea-fowl,  and  elsewhere  over  all 
the  islands,  the  birds  are  prized  as  food  exactly  in 
proportion  to  their  fishy  and  oily  taste ;  the  stronger 
the  savor,  the  more  precious  the  prize. 

Of  all  common  birds  that  fly,  commend  us  to  the 
curlew ;  for  we  are  by  no  means  of  that  tribe  of 
sportsmen  who  like  an  easy  prey,  and  in  our  eyes 
the  more  difficult  the  chase  the  more  glorious  the 
sport.  The  curlew  has  two  noble  qualities.  Kept 
till  the  right  minute,  cooked  to  a  turn,  delicately 
basted,  and  served  with  sweet  sauce,  it  equals  any 
bird  that  flies,  is  more  delicate  than  the  grouse, 
richer  than  the  partridge,  and  plumper  than  the 
snipe.  Then,  still  better,  it  is,  without  any  exception 
whatever,  the  most  difficult  of  all  English  birds  to 
catch  unawares,  or  to  entice  bv  any  device  within 
shooting  distance.  It  is  the  watchman  of  birds — the 
shyest,  the  most  vigilant,  the  most  calculating.  It 
knows  better  than  yourself  how  far  your  gun  can 
carry;  and  with  how  mocking  and  shrill  a  pipe  it 
rises  and  wheels  away,  just  as  you  fiatter  yourself  it 
is  within  gunshot !  Poor  will  be  your  chance  at  the 
wild-duck  on  the  shore,  if  the  whaup  be  near ;  for  his 
sharp  eye  will  spy  you  out,  as  you  crawl  forward  face 
downward,  and  at  his  shrill  warning,  "whirr"  will 
sound  the  wings  of  the  quacking  flock,  as  they  rise 
far  over  your  head,  and  you  rise  shaking  oif  the  dirt 
and  cursing  the  tell-tale.  When  a  band  of  curlews 
alight,  bo  sure  that  not  one  avenue  of  approach  is  un- 
guarded ;  look  with  a  telescope,  and  mark  the  outly- 


260  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE, 

ing  guards — one  high  up  on  a  rock,  another  peering 
round  the  comer  of  a  cliff,  a  third  far  up  on  the  land, 
and  a  last  straggler  perha})S  passing  over  your  own 
head  with  a  whistle  to  his  brethren.  In  all  our  sport- 
ing experience — and  it  has  been,  long,  if  not  glorious — 
we  have  known  only  one  of  these  birds  to  have 
been  shot  sitting^  and  this  one  was  slain  on  a  hillside 
by  Hamish  Shaw,  who  strapt  his  gun  upon  his  back, 
and  crawled  through  the  heather  on  his  stomach,  like 
a  snake! 

Let  the  sportsman  who  has  distinguished  himself 
on  the  moors  or  among  the  turnip  iields,  and  boasts 
loudly  of  his  twenty  brace,  try  his  hand  at  a  day's 
curlew  shooting,  and  if  on  a  first  or  second  trial  he 
bags  enough  dinner  for  a  kestrel,  we  will  call  him  the 
prince  of  shooters.  In  the  breeding  season  only  is  it 
possible  to  shoot  this  bird  easily,  without  an  accurate 
knowledge  of  its  habits,  or  much  experience  of  its 
wary  arts  ;  but  who  destroys  the  bird-mother  or  her 
tender  mate  ? 

The  Wanderer  and  Hamish  Shaw  slew  many  a 
whaup  in  the  fjords  at  Boisdale,  Nowhere  in  the 
Highlands  were  these  birds  so  plentiful — they  gathered 
in  great  flocks,  literally  darkening  the  sky ;  but  no- 
where, also,  were  they  shyer  and  wilder,  for  the  num- 
berless pairs  of  eyes  told  hugely  against  the  shooter. 
A  little  was  done  by  seeking  concealed  station,  and 
having  the  birds  driven  as  much  as  possible  in  that 
direction  ;  but  tlje  most  successful  plan  was  to  row  the 
punt  Slowly  to  the  spot  where  the  birds  thronged  the 
rocks,  with  their  heads  and  bodies  all  turned  one  way, 
and  when  they  arose  screaming,  to  run  the  chance  of 


SPORT    IN    THE    WILDS.  261 

picking  oir  solitary  individuals  at  long  distances.  It 
was  found  that  the  culew  always  felt  himself  perfectly 
safe  flying  at  eighty  or  ninety  yards;  and,  with 
careful  shooting  and  proper  loading,  Big  Benjamin 
could  do  wonders  at  that  distance  at  any  tolerably- 
sized  bird  on  the  wing. 

In  the  greater  inland  locl>6  of  Boisdale,  while  the 
Tern  was  flying  in  the  harbor,  the  wild-duck  were 
plentiful,  and  they  were  vigorously  hunted  on  two 
occasions  by  our  sportsmen  and  the  dog.  It  was  not 
such  easy  work  as  duck-shooting  often  is,  for  all  the 
shores  of  the  lochs  were  covered  with  deep  sedge  and 
reeds,  stretching  out  far  into  the  water,  and  afi'ording 
safe  cover  to  innumerable  coots  and  dabchicks,  as 
well  as  to  the  ducks  themselves.  Schneider,  however, 
performed  famously,  swimming  and  forcing  his  way 
through  the  green  forest,  till  he  startled  many  a  bird 
to  the  open. 

Enough  of  such  ignoble  chronicling  of  small  beer. 
"Wliaups,  wild-ducks  dabchicks — these  are  to  be  found 
on  every  moor  and  lochan  south,  as  well  as  north,  of 
the  Tweed.  But  what  says  the  reader  to  the  wild- 
goose  ?  A  more  noticeable  fellow  sm'ely,  and  well 
worthy  of  the  sportsman's  gun.  Even  far  south  in 
England,  in  severe  weather,  you  have  been  startled 
by  the  loud  "  quack,  quack,  quack,"  above  your  head, 
and  looking  upward,  you  have  seen,  far  up  in  the  air, 
the  flock  flying  swiftly,  in  the  shape  of  a  wedge, 
wending,  God  knows  whither,  with  outstretched  necks, 
in  noble  flight.  The  tame-goose,  the  fat,  waddling, 
splay-footed,  hissing  gosling,  all  neck  and  bottom,  is 
an  eye-sore,  a  monstrosity,  fit  only  for  the  honor's  of 


262  THE    LAND    OF    LOENE, 

onion-stuffing  and  apple-sauce,  at  the  Christmas  season ; 
but  his  wild  kinsman  is  Hyperion  to  a  satyr,  noble 
as  well  as  beautiful,  winged  like  an  eagle,  powerful  as 
a  swan,  not  easily  to  be  slain  by  Cockney  gun,  not 
easily  to  be  surpassed  in  his  grand  flight  by  Cockney 
imagination.  Now,  we  had  long  known  that  the 
wild-goose  bred  in  the  wilds  of  Uist,  and  we  longed 
to  take  him  in  his  lair ;  and  pursue  him  we  did  at 
last,  under  circumstances  most  clearly  warranting 
bird-slaughter,  if  ever  such  circumstances  occuiTed  in 
our  chequered  lifetime. 

We  had  been  storm-staid  for  a  week  in  Loch  Hu- 
port,  a  lonely  sea-fjord,  about  midway  between  Loch 
Boisdale  and  Loch  Maddy,  affording  a  snug  anchor- 
age in  one  of  its  numerous  bays — Macpherson's  Bay 
by  name.  So  wild  were  the  squalls  for  days  that  we 
could  not  safely  get  on  shore  with  the  punt,  although 
we  were  anchored  scarcely  two  hundred  yards  from 
land.  Kow,  by  sheer  blockheadedncss,  having  calcu- 
lated on  reaching  Loch  Maddy  and  its  shops  at  least 
a  fortnight  before,  we  had  run  short  of  nearly  every- 
thing— bread,  biscuits,  sugar,  tea,  coffee,  drink  of  all 
kinds  ;  and  but  for  a  supply  of  eggs  and  milk,  brought 
off  at  considerable  peril  from  a  lonely  hut  a  few  miles 
away,  we  should  have  been  in  sore  distress  indeed. 
At  last,  the  "Wanderer  and  Ilamish  Shaw  went  off  for 
a  forage,  with  guns  and  dog,  determined,  if  all  else 
failed,  and  they  could  not  purchase  supplies,  to  do 
justifiable  murder  on  a  helpless  sheep.  Though  the 
wind  was  still  high,  they  sailed  up  Loch  Huport  with 
the  punt  and  lug-sail,  and  having  reached  the  head  of 
the  loch,  and  drawn  the  boat  up  high  and  dry,  they 


SPOliT   IN    THE   WILDS.  263 

Bet  ofi'  on  foot  with  Big  Benjamin  and  the  double- 
barrel. 

About  five  hundred  yards  distant,  and  communicat- 
ing with  Loch  lluport  by  a  deep,  artificial  trench, 
nearly  passable  by  a  boat  at  high  tide,  lies  anotlier 
smaller  loch  of  brackish  water,  wliich,  in  its  turn,  com- 
municates, through  reedy  shallows,  with  a  great  loch 
reaching  almost  to  the  Western  Ocean.  Dean  Monro, 
who  visited  the  place  long  ago,  speaks  of  the  latter 
as  famous  for  its  red  mullet — "  ano  fish  the  size  and 
shape  of  ane  salmont ;  "  and  it  stitl  abounds  in  both 
fresh-water  and  ocean  fishes  : 

"  For  to  this  lake,  by  night  and  day 
The  great  sea-water  finds  its  way. 
Through  long,  long  windings  of  the  hills. 
And  drinks  up  all  the  pretty  rills. 
And  rivers  large  and  strong."  * 

The  smaller  loch  was  only  about  half  a  mile  broad, 
so  the  sportsmen  determined  to  separate,  each  taking 
one  of  the  banks ;  Hamish  Shaw  shoulderino;  Big  Ben- 
jamin,which  was  heavily  charged  with  the  largest  drop- 
shot,  and  the  Wanderer  the  double-barrel.  Shortly 
after  the  parting,  the  "Wanderer  saw  an  aged  Celt, 
who  was  fishing  for  sethe  with  bait — coarse  twine  for 
a  line,  and  a  piece  of  cork  for  a  float ;  and  this  worthy, 
after  recovering  from  the  shock  of  seeing  an  armed 
Sassenach  at  his  shoulder,  averred  that  there  were 
plenty  of  "  geeses  "  up  the  loch.  "  The  geeses  is  big 
and  strong,  but  she'll  only  just  be  beginning  to  flee 
awa'  " — a  statement  which  we  intei-preted  to  mean 

*  Wordsworth's  "  Highland  Boy." 


264  THE    LAND   OF   LOKNE. 

that  the  young  birds  were  fully  fledged,  and  able  to 
rise  upon  their  wings. 

The  shores  of  the  Loch  were  boggy  and  covered 
with  deep  herbage,  with  great  holes  here  and  there 
as  pitfalls  to  the  unwary  pedestrian  ;  and  the  "Wan- 
derer stumbled  along  for  about  a  mile  without  seeing 
80  much  as  the  glint  of  a  passing  wing.  At  last,  he 
perceived  a  small  and  desolate  island,  over  which 
two  black-backed  gulls  hovered,  screaming  at  the  sight 
of  the  stranger.  From  a  corner  of  this  island  rose 
a  duck,  and  sped  swiftly,  out  of  gunshot,  down  the 
water.  The  Wanderer  waded,  sure  that  it  must 
wheel ;  and  wheel  it  did,  after  flying  five  hundred 
yards,  and  passed  back  close  over  its  head.  Down  it 
came,  plump  as  a  stone.  Alas !  only  a  good  duck, 
with  its  buff  breast  and  saw-toothed  bill ;  and  a 
mother  too,  for  out  from  the  weedy  point  of  the 
island,  diving  in  unconcern,  paddled  her  uve  young, 
earning  their  own  living  already,  though  they  were 
only  wingless  little  lumps  of  down.  The  wanderer 
bagged  his  bird  disappointedly,  for  he  had  been  on 
short  rations  for  days,  and  had  made  sure  of  a  mallard. 

A  cry  from  Ilamish  Shaw!  He  was  standing 
across  the  water,  pointing  backward  up  the  Loch,  and 
shouting  out  a  sentence,  of  which  only  one  word — 
"  geese  t" — was  audible.  The  Wanderer  crept 
stealthily  to  the  water's  edge,  and  espied  a  number 
of  large  birds  seated  on  the  water  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away.  The  telescope  soon  proving  the  blissful  truth 
that  these  were  "  the  geese,"  it  was  hurriedly  arranged 
in  pantomime  that  Hamish  should  creep  back  and 
press  the  birds  gently  forward,  without  approaching 


SrORT    IN    Til''.    WILDS.  2G5 

SO  close  as  to  compel  them  to  rise,  while  the  Wan- 
derer, with  hi>i  (log,  crouched  behind  a  rock  on  the 
water's  edge,  ready  to  attack  the  unwary  ones  as 
they  swam  past.  "  To  heel,  Schneider — down  !  " 
With  burning  eyes  and  panting  breath  crouched  the 
dog  ;  for,  thank  heaven  !  it  was  one  of  her  good  days, 
and  not  a  sheep  was  nigh. 

It  was  one  of  those  periods  of  awful  suspense  known 
only  to  the  man  who  shoots — a  quarter  of  an  hour  of 
agony — the  knees  soaking  in  muddy  weeds,  the  per- 
spiration rolling  down  the  cheeks — an  unaccountable 
and  fiercely  resisted  desire  to  sneeze  suddenly  taking 
possession  of  the  nose — one  eye,  in  an  agony,  glaring 
command  on  the  animal,  the  other  peering,  at  the 
approaching  game.  And  now,  horror  of  horrors ! 
it  is  beginning  to  mizzle.  The  spectacles  get 
misted  over  every  minute,  and  they  are  wiped  with 
a  hand  that  trembles  like  an  aspen  leaf.  Suppose 
the  piece,  at  the  last  moment  should  refuse  to 
go  off?  A  bad  cartridge,  on  this  occasion,  means 
no  less  than  semi-starvation !  There  they  are — 
little  more  than  a  hundred  yards  away — a  mighty 
gander,  gray  headed  and  jaunty,  leading  the  way, 
a  female  a  few  yards  behind,  then  another  gander 
and  his  wife,  and  lastly  four  fat  young  geese,  nearly 
as  big  as  their  parents,  but  duller  in  their  attire  and 
far  less  cm*ious  in  their  scrutiny  of  surrounding 
objects.  Hush!  the  first  gander  is  abreast  of  us — we 
have  to  hold  down  the  dog  by  main  force.  We  do 
not  fire,  for  our  hearts  are  set  on  the  young  brood ; 
they  will  be  tender — papa  will  be  tough.  Perdition  ! 
Schneider,  driven   to   frenzy,   and  vainly  trying  to 

12 


260  THE   LAND    OF   LOBNE. 

escape,  utters  a  low  and  hideous  wliine — the  old 
ganders  and  geese  start  in  horror — tliey  flutter, 
splash,  rise — and  there  is  just  time  to  take  rapid  aim 
at  one  young  goose,  just  dragging  itself  into  the  air, 
when  the  dog  plunges  into  the  water,  and  the  whole 
portly  covey  are  put  to  rout. 

As  the  smoke  of  the  gun  clears  away,  all  the 
geese  are  invisible  but  one,  which  lies  splashing  on 
the  surface,  mortally  wounded;  him  Schneider  ap- 
proaches to  secure,  but,  appalled  by  a  hiss,  a  beat  of 
the  wings,  a  sudden  sign  of  showing  fight,  turns  off 
and  would  retreat  ignominiously  to  shore.  She  has 
never  tackled  such  a  monster  since  a  certain  eventful 
day  when  she  was  nearly  murdered  by  another 
wounded  bird,  also  a  goose,  but  of  a  different  kind — 
a  solan,  or  a  gannet.  Dire  is  the  language  which  tlie 
Wanderer  hurls  at  her  head,  fierce  the  reproaches, 
bitter  the  taunting  reminiscences  of  other  mishaps  by 
flood  and  field  ;  till  at  last,  goaded  by  mingled  shame 
and  wrath,  the  dog  turns,  showing  her  teeth,  de- 
spatches the  foe  with  one  fell  snap,  and  begins  trailing 
him  to  shore.  Meanwhile,  the  Wanderer  hears  a 
loud  report  in  the  distance — crash  !  roar  ! — unmis- 
takably the  voice  of  Benjamin,  adding  doubtless  to 
the  list  of  slain. 

Flushed  with  triumph,  for  at  least  one  meal  was 
secure,  the  Wanderer  slung  the  spoil  over  his 
shoulder,  patted  the  dog  in  forgiveness  of  all  sins, 
and  made  his  way  over  to  the  other  side  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  Arrived  there,  he  looked  everywhere  for 
Ilamish,  but  saw  no  sign  of  that  doughty  Celt.  At 
last  his  eye  fell  on  something  white  lying  among  the 


SrOIlT    IN    THE    WILDS.  267 

heather ;  and  lo  !  an  aged  gander,  blood-stained, 
dead  as  a  stone.  Then,  emerging  from  the  deep 
herbage,  rose  the  liead  of  Shaw — a  ghastly  sight ; 
for  the  face  was  all  cut  and  covered  with  blood.  An 
old  story  !  Held  in  hands  not  well  used  to  his  ways, 
Big  Benjamin  had  taken  advantage  of  the  occasion, 
and,  uttering  his  diabolical  roar,  belging  forwards 
and  kicking  backwards,  had  slain  a  gander,  and 
nearly  murdered  a  man  at  the  same  time. 

A  little  water  cleared  away  the  signs  of  battle, 
but  Hamish  still  rubbed  his  cheek  and  shoulder, 
vowing  never  to  have  any  more  dealings  with  such 
a  gun  so  long  as  he  lived.  After  a  rest  and  a  drop 
of  water  from  the  flask,  tracks  were  made  homeward, 
and  just  as  the  gloaming  was  beginning,  the  fruit  of 
the  forage  was  trimnphantly  handed  over  to  the  cook 
on  board  the  yacht. 

Blessings  do  not  come  singly.  By  the  side  of  the 
yacht,  and  nearly  as  big  as  herself,  was  a  boat  from 
shore,  offering  for  sale  new  potatoes,  fresh  milk,  and 
eggs.  On  board  were  a  shepherd  and  his  wife,  who, 
living  in  an  obscure  bay  of  the  loch,  had  only  just 
heard  of  the  yacht's  arrival.  The  man  was  a  little 
red-headed  fellow,  wiry  and  lissome  ;  his  wife  might 
have  passed  for  a  Spanish  gipsy,  with  her  straight 
and  stately  body,  her  dark,  fine  features  and  glit- 
tering black  eyes,  and  the  colored  handkerchief 
setting  oif  finely  a  complexion  of  tawny  olive. 
Kindly  and  courteous,  hearing  that  a  "  lady "  was 
on  board,  they  liad  brought  as  a  present  to  her 
two  beautiful  birds — a  young  male  kestrel  and  a 
young  hooting   owl,  which   from   that   day   became 


268  THE    LAND   OF   LORNE. 

members  of  the  already  too  numerous  household 
on  board  the  Tefrn.  The  kestrel  lives  yet — a  nau- 
tical bird,  tame  as  possible,  never  tired  of  swinging 
on  a  perch  on  the  deck  of  a  ship ;  but  the  owl, 
christened  "  The  Chancellor,"  on  account  of  his  wig, 
disappeared  one  day  overboard,  and  was  in  all 
probability  drowned. 

The  shepherd  was  a  mountaineer,  and  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  ways  and  haunts  of  birds.  He 
knew  of  only  one  pair  of  eagles  in  that  neighborhood, 
and  from  his  vague  description,  translated  to  us  by 
Ilamish  Shaw,  we  could  not  make  out  to  what 
precise  species  of  eagle  he  referred.  He  had  harried 
the  nest  that  spring,  but  the  young  had  died  in  his 
hands,  and  he  was  afraid  the  old  birds  would  forsake 
the  mountain.  In  answer  to  our  questions  about 
sport,  he  said  that  the  small  lochans  close  by  attract- 
ed a  large  number  of  birds,  but  if  we  wished  a 
genuine  day  of  wild-fowl-hunting,  we  must  go  to  Loch 
Phlogibeg,  two  miles  in  the  interior,  where  the  geese 
were  legion.  He  recommended  us  to  get  the  punt 
carried  across  the  hills — a  feat  which  might  speedily 
be  achieved  by  vigorous  work  on  the  part  of  four 
strong  men. 

As  it  was  still  too  windy  next  morning  to  think  of 
lifting  anchor  and  urging  the  yacht  farther  on  her 
journey  up  the  open  coast,  the  punt  was  taken  to 
shore  at  an  early  hour  by  Ilamish  and  the  Wanderer  ; 
and  an  aged  shepherd  and  his  son,  living  in  a  cottage 
on  the  banks  of  the  fjord,  were  soon  persuaded  to 
assist  in  carrying  the  boat  overland.  It  was  warm 
work.     The  hills  were  steep  and  full  of  great  holes 


SrORT    IN    THE    WILDS.  260 

between  the  lieather,  and  the  earth  was  sodden  with 
rain  which  had  fallen  during  the  night.  Fortunately, 
however,  there  intervened,  between  the  sea  and  Loch 
Phlogibeg,  no  less  than  four  smaller  lochs,  over  which 
the  punt  was  rowed  successively,  thus  reducing  the 
land  journey  from  two  miles  to  little  more  than  half  a 
mile.  And  lovely,  indeed,  were  these  little  lochans  of 
the  hills,  nestling  among  the  hollows,  their  water  of 
exquisite  limpid  brown,  and  the  water-lilies  floating 
thereon  so  thickly  that  the  path  of  the  boat  seemed 
strewn  with  flowers.  Small  trout  leaped  at  intervals, 
leaving  a  ring  of  light  that  widened  and  died.  From 
one  little  pool,  no  larger  than  a  gentleman's  drawing- 
room,  and  appareled  in  a  many-colored  glory  no 
upholsterer  could  equal,  we  startled  a  pair  of  beautiful 
red-throats — but  the  guns  were  empty,  and  the  prize 
escaped.  There  were  ducks  also,  and  flappers  num- 
berless— stately  herons,  too,  rising  at  our  approach 
with  a  clumsy  flap  of  the  great  black  wings,  and 
tumbling  over  and  over  in  the  air,  when  out  of  the 
reach  of  danger,  in  awkward  and  unwieldy  play. 

What  is  stiller  than  a  heron  on  a  promontory  ? 
Moveless  he  stands,  arching  his  neck  and  eyeing  the 
water  with  one  steadfast  gaze.  Hours  pass — he  has 
not  stirred  a  feather ;  fish  are  scarce ;  but  sooner  or 
later,  an  eel  will  slip  glittering  past  that  very  spot, 
and  be  secured  by  one  thrust  of  the  mighty  bill.  He 
will  wait  on,  trusting  to  Providence,  hungry  though 
he  is.  Not  till  he  espies  your  approach  does  he 
change  his  attitude.  "Watchful,  yet  still,  he  now 
stands  sidelong,  stretching  out  his  long  neck  with  a 


270  THE    LAND    OF    LOllNE. 

serpentine  motion,  till,  unable  to  bear  the  suspense 
any  longer,  he  rises  into  the  air. 

At  last,  all  panting,  we  launched  the  punt  on 
Phlogibeg.  Delicious,  indeed,  at  that  moment,  would 
have  been  a  drop  of  distilled  waters,  but  the  last 
whisky-bottle  had  been  empty  for  days,  and  was  not 
to  be  replenished  in  those  regions.  Having  despatched 
the  Highlanders  liomeward,  with  a  promise  from 
them  to  aid  in  the  transport  of  the  boat  on  the  return 
journey  next  day,  the  Wanderer  and  his  henchman 
prepared  the  guns  and  set  oif  in  search  of  sport. 

Loch  Phlogibeg  is  a  large  and  solitary  mere,  in  the 
heart  of  a  melancholy  place.  Around  it  the  land 
undulates  into  small  hills,  with  bogs  and  marshes 
between,  and  to  the  southeast,  high  mountains  of 
gneiss,  with  crags  and  precipices  innumerable,  rise 
ashen  gray  into  the  clouds.  All  is  very  desolate — 
the  bare  mountains,  the  windy  flats,  the  ever-somber 
sky.  There  is  not  a  tree  or  shrub ;  instead  of  under- 
wood, stones  and  boulders  strew  the  w^aste.  The 
mere  itself  is  black  as  lead ;  small  islands  rise  here 
and  there,  heaped  round  with  rocks  and  stones,  and 
covered  inside  with  deep,  rank  grass  and  darnel. 
Everywhere  in  the  water  jut  up  pieces  of  rock — some- 
times a  whole  drift-reef,  like  a  ribbed  wall ;  and  at  the 
western  end  are  the  ruins  of  a  circular  tower,  or  dune, 
looking  eerie  in  the  dim  twilight  of  the  dull  and 
doleful  air. 

But  now  we  are  afloat,  pulling  against  a  chill,  moist 
wind.  Hark  !  The  air,  which  was  before  so  still,  is 
broken  by  unearthly  screams.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
lonely  place  are  up   in  arms,  yelling  us  away  from 


SrOIlT   IN   THE   WILDS.  2*71 

their  nests  and  young.     Look  at  tlic  terns,  pulsing  up 
and    down    in  the  air  with  that   strange,   spasmodic 
l)eat  of  the  wings,  curving  the  little  black  head  down- 
ward,  and    uttering    their    endless    creaking  croak. 
Why,  that  little  fellow,  swift  as  an  arrow,  descended 
almost  to  our  faces,  as  if  to  peck  out  our  eyei5;  we 
could  have   struck   him  witli    a   staff"!     Numberless 
gulls,  large  and  small,  white  and  dark,  all  hovering 
liither  and  thither,  above  our  heads,  now  unite  in  the 
chorus;  and  two  of  the  large,  black-backed   species 
loin  the  flying  band,  but,  unlike  the  rest,  voice  their 
indignation  only  at  long  intervals.     The  din  is  fright- 
ful !  all   the  fiends  are   loose !      Yet  numerous  as  are 
the  criers  in  the  air,  they  are  only  a  fraction  of  the 
swai-ms  visible  in   the   loch — flocks  of  them   sitting 
moveless  on  the  island  shores,  solitary  ones  perching 
on  the  straggling  rocks  where  they  protrude  through 
the  water,  others   floating  and  feeding  far  out  from 
land.   See  yonder  monster  gull,  perched  on  a  stone ;  she 
looks  huge  as  an  eagle,  with  back  as  black  as  ebony, 
breast  as  white  as  snow,  and  large  and  glistening  eyes ; 
she  does  not  move  as  we  approach,  but  her  frantic  mate 
hovers  above  us  and  tries  to  scream  us  away.  Though 
sorely  tempted  to  secure  so   magnificent  a  bird,  we 
spare  her,  partly  for  the  sake  of  her  young,  partly 
(and  more  selfislily)  for  fear  of  frightening  from  the 
loch    other   and    more    precious    game.      Note    tlfe 
smaller  and  darker  plumaged  birds,  paddling  swiftly 
here  and  there  close  to  the  rocks ;   they   are  young 
gulls,  recently  launched   out   on   the  great  water  of 
life. 

All   this  life   only  deepens  the  desolation   of  the 


2'?2  THE   LAND   OF   LOBNE. 

meie.     There  is  a  hollow  sadness  in  the  air,  which 
the  weird  screech  of  the  birds  cannot  break. 

But  the  geese — where  are  they  ?  Not  one  is  visible 
as  yet ;  we  have  not  even  heard  a  quack.  Is  it,  indeed, 
to  be  a  wild-goose  chase,  but  only  in  the  figurative 
sense,  not  literally  ?  No — for  Hamish,  with  his  lynx- 
Jike  eye,  has  picked  out  the  flock  afar  away;  he  points 
them  out  again  and  again — there!  and  there! — but 
the  Wanderer,  wipe  his  spectacles  as  he  will,  can  see 
nothing.  With  the  telescope,  however,  he  at  last 
makes  them  out — a  long  line  upon  the  water,  number- 
less heads  and  necks.  What  a  swarm !  Surely  all 
the  geese  of  Uist  have  gathered  here  this  day  to  dis- 
cuss some  solemn  business !  It  is  the  very  parliament 
of  geese — grave,  traditional — beginning  and  ending, 
like  so  many  of  our  own  parliaments,  in  a  "  quack." 
Hush  !  Now  to  steal  on  them  slowly  with  muffled 
oars.  Some,  the  older  birds,  will  rise,  but  surely  out 
of  all  that  mighty  gathering  a  few  will  be  our  own  ! 

As  we  approach,  the  geese  retreat — they  have 
spied  UB  already,  and  wish  to  give  us  a  wide  berth. 
Two  or  three  have  risen,  and  winged  right  over  the 
hill.  Never  mind  !  push  forward.  So  swiftly  do  they 
Bwim,  that  the  boat  does  not  gain  a  foot  upon  them, 
but  they  cannot  pass  beyond  the  head  of  the  loch  up 
yonder,  half  a  mile  away,  and  there,  at  least,  we  shall 
come  upon  them.  Ilark !  they  are  whispering  ex- 
citedly together,  and  the  result  of  the  conference  is 
that  they  divide  into  two  great  parties,  one  making 
toward  a  passage  between  some  islands  to  the  left, 
the  other  keeping  its  straight  course  up  the  mere. 
Conscious  of  some  deep-laid  scheme  to  baulk  us,  we 


8P0RT   IN   THE   WILDS.  273 

follow  the  band  tliat  keep  straight  forward — forty 
ganders,  geese,  and  goslings,  flying  swiftly  for  life. 
Faster!  faster!  we  are  gaining  on  them,  and  by  the 
time  they  reach  that  promontory,  we  may  fire.  Now 
they  arc  beginning  to  scatter,  some  diving  out  of 
sight,  and  many  rising  high  on  wing  to  fly  round  the 
land.  They  have  rounded  the  proiacmtory,  doubtless 
into  some  secret  bay — not  a  bird  isTisible.  Yes,  one  I 
For  a  miracle,  he  is  swimming  straight  this  way.  His 
dusky  plumage  and  crestless  head  prove  him  a  juve- 
nile ;  and  surely  nature,  when  she  sent  him  into  this 
world  of  slayers  and  slain,  denied  him  the  due  propor- 
tion of  goose's  brains.  Is  he  mad,  or  blind,  or  does 
he  want  to  fight?  He  is  only  fifty  yards  away,  and 
rising  erect  in  the  water,  he  flaps  the  water  from  his 
short  wings  and  gazes  about  him  with  total  unconcern. 
A  moment  afterward,  and  he  is  a  dead  gander. 

Not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost ;  quick — ^round  the 
promontory— or  the  flock  will  be  heaven  knows 
where.  Too  late !  Not  a  bird  is  to  be  seen.  "VVe 
are  close  to  the  head  of  the  loch,  with  a  full  view  of 
all  the  corners  ;  not  a  solitary  feather.  They  can- 
not all  be  diving  at  the  same  time.  Tet  we  can 
swear  they  did  not  rise  on  the  wing  ;  had  they  done 
so,  we  could  not  have  failed  to  perceive  them.  Two 
score  geese  suddenly  invisible,  swallowed  up  in  an 
instant,  without  so  much  as  a  feather  to  show  they 
once  were !  Hamisli  Shaw  scratches  his  head,  and 
the  Wanderer  feels  awed ;  both  are  quite  unable  to 
account  for  the  mystery. 

You  see,  it  is  their  first  real  Wild-Goose  Day,  and 
j^eing  raw   sportsmen,    actually   accumulating   their 

12* 


2'7'i  THE    LANT>    OV   LORNF,. 

knowledge  bj  pci*sonal  experience,  and  utterly  reject- 
ing the  adventitious  instruction  of  books,  they  are  un- 
aware that  the  young  wild-goose,  when  sore  beset  on 
the  water,  has  a  sly  knack  of  creeping  in  to  shore,  and 
betaking  himself  for  the  time  being  to  the  shelter  of 
tlio  tliick  heather,  or  the  deep,  grassy  boghole.  But 
now  the  mystery  is  clear ;  for  yonder  is  the  last  of  the 
stragglers,  running  up  the  bank  as  fast  as  its  legs  can 
carry  it,  and  disappearing  among  the  grass  above. 
Taliyho  !  To  shore,  Schneider,  and  after  it !  The  dog 
plunges  in,  reaches  the  bank,  and  disappears  in  pur- 
suit. Rnmning  the  boat  swiftly  in  to  shore,  we  land 
and  follow  with  the  guns.  Half  running,  half  flying, 
screaming  fiercely,  speeds  the  goose,  so  fast  that  the 
dog  scarcely  gains  on  her,  and  making  a  short,  sharp 
turn,  rushes  again  to  the  water,  plunges  in,  dives,  and 
reappears  out  of  gunshot.  But  his  companions — 
where  are  they  ?  Gone,  like  the  mist  of  the  morning. 
Though  we  search  every  clump  of  heather,  every  peat- 
hole,  every  water-course,  and  though  Schneider,  seem- 
ing to  smell  goose  at  every  step,  is  as  keen  as  though 
she  were  hunting  a  rat  in  his  hole,  not  a  bird  do  we 
discover.  Can  they  have  penetrated  into  some  sub- 
terranean cave,  and  there  be  quacking  in  security? 
Forty  geese — vanished  away !  By  Jupiter,  we  have 
been  befooled  ! 

Somewhat  tired,  we  rest  for  a  time  on  the  water- 
side. The  mere  is  silent  again,  untroubled  by  the 
screaming  birds  or  the  murderous  presence  of  man. 
A  drift-mist  is  passing  rapidly  against  the  upper  parts 
of  the  mountains  yonder,  and  the  crags  look  terrific 
through  its  sickly  smoke,   and  the  wind  is  getting 


srOKT    IN    TIIK    WILDS.  275 

lii"licr.  Hark!  la  that  distant  tluinder?  or  is  it  the 
crumbling  down  of  crags  among  the  heights?  It  is 
neither.  It  is  the  hollow  moan  of  the  western  ocean, 
beating  in  on  tlie  sands  that  lie  beyond  these  deso- 
late flats.  One  feels  neither  very  wise  nor  very  grand, 
caught  by  such  a  voice  in  the  wilderness,  caught — 
hunting  geese.  Had  it  been  a  red  deer,  now,  or  an 
eagle,  or  even  a  seal,  that  w^e  were  pursuing  ;  but  a 
goose — how  harmonize  it  with  the  immensities  ?  Of 
course,  it  is  merely  association  ;  for,  in  point  of  fact, 
the  wild-goose  is  a  thoroughly  noble  bird,  a  silence- 
lover,  a  high  soarer,  an  inhabitant  of  the  lonely  mere 
and  desolate  marsh,  a  proud  haunter  of  the  weedy 
footprints  of  the  sea. 

Yes,  the  wind  is  rising.  Dark  clouds  are  driving 
up  to  westward,  and  the  surface  of  the  mere  begins  to 
whiten  here  and  there  with  small,  sharp  waves.  It 
looks  like  the  beginning  of  a  spindrift  gale,  but  the 
weather  is  very  deceptive  in  these  latitudes,  and  it 
may  mean  nothing  after  all.  It  will  be  better,  how- 
ever, to  be  making  tracks  over  the  hills. 

Up  goes  the  lugsail,  and  we  drive  down  the  loch 
with  frightful  speed.  Down  with  it ;  for  the  water 
is  sown  with  rocks,  and  if  we  touch  a  stone  while 
going  at  that  speed,  the  punt's  side  wiU  be  driven  into 
splinters.  We  fly  fast  enough  now,  without  sail  or  oar. 
Ha !  yonder  are  the  geese  round  that  point,  all  gath- 
ered together  again,  and,  doubtless,  conversing  ex- 
citedly about  their  recent  terrific  adventures.  Before 
they  can  scatter  much,  we  have  rounded  the  point  and 
are  down  upon  them.  Bang  goes  Big  Benjamin! 
Bang!    bang!    goes   the   double-barrel.      Four  fine 


276  THE    LAND    OF    LOENE. 

young  birds  are  secured,  two  of  them  due  to  Ben  the 
monster.  We  have  just  dragged  them  into  the  boat, 
when  the  rain  begins  to  come  down,  while  the  wind 
is  still  flogging  the  water  with  pitiless  blows. 

And  80,  wet  and  weary,  we  drew  up  the  punt  in  a 
sheltered  creek,  and  turned  her  over.  Hard  by  were 
some  rude  huts,  built  of  peat  turfs  and  wood — the 
summer  abodes,  or  shielings,  of  the  shepherds,  who 
bring  their  flocks  over  here  for  the  pasture ;  and  in 
one  of  these  we  left  our  oars,  mast,  sail,  and  other  ar- 
ticles. Then  shouldering  our  spoil,  we  put  our  backs 
to  the  wind  and  rain,  and  dashed  along,  through  bog 
and  over  ditch,  till  we  arrived  at  the  shepherd's  hut 
on  the  side  of  Loch  Huport. 

There,  on  the  threshold,  greeting  us  with  a  smile, 
was  a  Highland  lass,  in  the  clean  short-gown  and  col- 
ored petticoat,  with  hair  snooded  carefully  and  bare 
feet  as  white  as  alabaster.  She  was,  without  doubt, 
the  sweetest  maiden  that  we  had  yet  met  in  our 
Iliffhland  rambles.     Like  her  of  whom  Wordsworth 

Fung — 

"  A  very  sliower 
Of  beauty  was  her  earthly  dower  ;" 

and  it  was  ghostly  beauty,  the  spiritual  sweetening 
the  earthly.  The  features  were  not  faultless  ;  the  nose 
was  perhaps  a  little  inclined  to  heaven,  but  the  eyes  I 
What  depth  they  had  ?  What  limpid  serenity  and 
far-searcliing  thought !  They  were  sorrowful  eyes — 
had  doubtless  been  washed  with  many  tears.  What 
struck  us  most  about  this  creature  was  her  strange 
whiteness  and  purity — her  linen  was  literally  like 
snow,  her  face  was  pale,  her  bai-e  arms  and  legs  were 


SPORT    IN    THE   WILDS.  277 

like  marble — it  was  cleanliness  almost  oppressive, 
giving  to  her  a  wild,  fantastic  influence,  finely  in 
keeping  with  those  eerie-  wilds.  If  an  artist  could 
have  seen  this  maiden,  painted  her  in  her  habit  as  she 
lived,  and  written  beneath,  "  Bonnie  Kilmeny,"  he 
would  have  been  hailed  as  a  great  ideal  painter. 
Janue  Hogg  would  have  screamed  and  run,  at  seeing 
tlie  heroine  of  his  superb  poem  so  incarnated,  so  sent 
to  grace  the  wilds  with  witch-beauty  : 

"  Als  still  was  her  luke,  and  als  still  was  her  ee, 
Als  the  stillness  that  lay  on  the  emeraut  lee. 
Or  thi!  mist  that  sleips  on  a  waveless  sea.  .  .  . 
And  oh  .  her  beauty  was  fayir  to  see, 
But  still  and  steadfast  was  her  ee !" 

Yet  we  just  now  called  her  a  maiden.  Maid  she 
was  none,  as  we  afterward  discovered,  but  a  mother — 
the  shepherd's  daughter-in-law.  Whence,  then,  that 
maiden  whiteness,  so  coldly  spiritual  ?  that  alabaster 
body,  so  "  purified  from  child-bed  taint  ?"  They 
were  not  of  this  earth  ;  the  woman's  soul,  like  Kil- 
meny's,  was  in  the  "  land  of  thocht,"  and  morning  and 
even  was  washing  the  body  clean  in  the  delicate  dews 
of  dream. 

Unfortunately,  Kilmeny,  as  we  mean  to  call  her  till 
the  world's  end,  "  had  no  English,"  and  Hamish  Shaw 
had  to  intei-pret  for  her  pensive  lips ;  but,  after  all, 
those  deep  eyes  needed  no  interpreters;  they  told 
their  own  strange  tale.  It  was  very  commonplace,  of 
course — would  we  have  some  milk?  and  had  we  had 
good  sport  ?  and  was  the  Wanderer  an  Englishman  ? 
and  whence  had  the  yacht  come  ?  But  the  wi'etched 
but,   the   tbick   peat-smoke — nay,   even   tbe  ragged 


278  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

urchin  in  the  corner — could  not  shake  us  out  of  a 
dream,  such  power  liad  one  exquisitely  expressive  face 
in  startling  thewajworn  spirit  and  making  it  tremble. 
There  was  a  message  of  some  sort,  a  sudden  light  out 
of  another  world — what  message,  what  light  ?  was  an- 
other question — but  it  was  beautiful ! 

"  She  met  me,  stranger,  upon  life's  rough  way, 
And  lured  me  toward  sweet  death,  as  night  by  day 
Winter  by  spring,  or  sorrow  by  sweet  hope 
Led  into  life,  light,  peace.     An  antelope. 
In  the  suspended  impulse  of  its  lightness. 
Were  less  ethereally  light  ;  the  brightness 
Of  her  divinest  presence  trembles  through 
Her  limbs,  as  underneath  a  cloud  of  dew 
Embodied  in  the  windless  heaven  of  June, 
Amid  the  splendor-winged  stars,  the  moon 
Burns  inextinguishably  beautiful." 

Yes,  that  was  it ;  she  "  lured  toward  sweet  death." 
When  the  Wanderer  thinks  of  her  now,  it  is  often 
with  a  cold  chill — as  of  one  laid  out,  in  a  snowy 
winding-sheet,  prinked  with  white  lilies  from  the 
lochans.  It  is  only  a  fancy,  but  the  eyes  still  haunt 
him.     Perhaps  the  woman  is  dead. 

"  Who  is  the  goose  now  ?"  we  hear  the  reader  ex- 
claim ;  and  perhaps  he  is  right.  It  was,  at  all  events, 
a  strange  ending  to  our  Wild-Goose  Day.  The  shep- 
herd, with  some  difficulty,  for  the  wind  was  high, 
rowed  us  in  his  clumsy  skiff  to  the  yacht,  where  wc 
soon  turned  in,  and  dreamed  about  Kilmeny. 

Two  wild  days  of  rain  and  wind  had  to  pass  away 
ere  we  could  get  across  to  Loch  Phlogibeg  for  the 
punt.  At  last,  however,  we  went  over,  shot  a  few 
moor- geese,  and  brought   the   punt  back  through  a 


SPOUT   IN   THE   WILDS.  279 

drenching  mist.  It  only  remains  to  bo  added  that, 
with  the  assistance  of  Schneider  and  the  hawk,  wa  ate 
np  every  goose  we  slew,  and  if  we  had  had  sometlimg 
to  swallow  with  tlie  same,  even  a  crust  of  bread  or  a 
biscuit,  would  have  found  the  flesh  delicious.  But 
man  cannot  live  on  goose  alone,  however  young,  how- 
ever tender.  How  did  we  crave  a  scrap  of  bread,  and 
a  drop  of  whisky,  or  tea  to  wash  it  down  !       % 

Though  we  had  goose  galore,  and  eggs,  and  milk, 
that  was  all  Loch  Iluport  could  do  for  us ;  and,  really, 
it  might  have  been  much  worse,  and  we  were  un- 
grateful beings  to  crouch  frowningly  and  mutter 
about  starvation.  Hamish  Shaw  was  the  bitterest, 
for  he  was  out  of  tobacco,  and  to  him,  as  to  many 
another  water-dog,  life  without  tobacco  was  accursed 
torture.  He  had  tried  tea,  till  that  was  quite  ex- 
hausted. Then  he  attempted  a  slice  of  boot-leather, 
and  rather  liked  it — only,  if  he  had  persisted  in 
smoking  that  kind  of  stufl",  he  would  soon  have  had 
to  go  barefoot.  The  Wanderer  recommended  ^;^ffi, 
but  the  idea  was  rejected  with  indignation. 

Just  as  the  weather  was  beofinnins:  to  clear,  a  larjije 
ship  put  into  the  loch,  for  a  rest  after  weeks  of  bad 
weather,  and  by  boarding  her  we  procured  a  few 
supplies — a  little  tea,  some  tobacco,  and  a  number  of 
weeviled  biscuits.  Now,  the  presence  of  a  large 
A^essel  acts  like  magic  in  a  solitary  place.  No  sooner 
had  the  ship'  entered  the  loch  than  the  region, 
which  had  previously  seemed  uninhabited,  became 
suddenly  populous,  and  numerous  skiffs  rowed  out 
laden  with  natives.  The  skipper  did  what  the 
Yankees    would    call    a   "  smart "   thing    with    the 


280  T^E    LAND    OF  LORNE. 

natives  on  that  occasion.  Having  need  of  hands  to 
get  in  his  anchors,  wliich  had  dragged,  he  paid  them 
off  in  biscuits  of  the  finest  quality,  telling  them  to 
return  next  day,  and  (if  they  pleased)  he  would  take 
in  exchange  for  biscuits  any  quantity  of  dried  fish 
they  liked  to  bring.  The  natives  were  of  course  de- 
lighted, and  the  skipper  secured  a  splendid  lot  of  fish 
for  the  southern  market.  But  conceive  the  disgust  of 
the  poor  deluded  Celts  on  examining  their  prize  of 
dearl^'-coveted  bread — for  the  biscuits  were  full  of 
weevils,  and  worth  scarcely  a  penny  a  pound. 

"  All  this  far  you  have  been  digressing !  "  cries  the 
impatient  reader.     "  We  have  heard  more  than  we 
want  to  hear  about  ducks  and  geese,  and  hunger  and 
thirst;    but   what   of  the   red   deer,    the   eagle,    the 
sdmon,  the  hooper,  the  seal  ?  "     Well,  as  to  -the  red 
deer,  we  may  or  may  not  have  been  the  death  of  many 
a  forest  king — their  antlers  may  or  may  not  be  hang- 
ing over  the   chimney-piece  in  our  smoking-room — 
but  we  did  not  get  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  a  deer  in 
the  wilds  of  the  Long  Island.    The  salmon  had  not  yet 
ascended  the  rivers,  and  the  wild  swans  were  rearing: 
that  year's  young  in  the  distant  north.    More  than  one 
eagle  we  beheld,  floating  among  the  mountain  peaks 
on  the  eastern  coast,  and  dwarfed  by  distance  to  the 
size    of   a    wind-hover;     but    mighty    would    have 
been  the  hunter  who  could  reach  and  slay  the  sky- 
loving  birds  in  their  glory.     Indeed  Yew  have  ever 
killed  an  eagle  in  its  full  pride  of  strength  and  flight. 
It  is  the  sickly,  half-starved,  feeble  bird  that  inad- 
vertently crosses    the   shepherd's   gun,  and  yields    a 
lean    and   unwholesome    body    to    the.  stuffer's    arts. 


SPORT   IN   THE   WILDS.  '2bl 

Such  ail  one  we  buw  low  down  on  the  crags  of  Ben 
Eval,  passing  with  a  great  heavy  heat  of  the  wing 
from  rock  to  rock,  now  hovering  for  an  instant  over 
some  ohject  among  the  heather,  then  rising  painfully 
and  drifting  along  on  the  wind.  We  had  no  gun 
with  us  that  day,  or  we  think  that,  hy  cautiously 
stalking  among  the  heights,  we  might  have  made 
the  bird  our  own  ;  and,  indeed,  our  hearts  were  sad 
for  the  great  bird,  with  that  fierce  hunger  tearing  at 
his  heart,  while,  doubtless,  the  yellow  eyes  burnt 
terribly  through  the  gathering  films  of  death.  Out 
of  the  hollow  crags  gathered  six  ravens,  rushing  with 
hoarse  shrieks  at  the  fallen  king,  and  turning  away 
-with  horrible  yells  whenever  he  turned  towards  them 
with  sharp  talon  and  opened  beak  ;  attracted  by  the 
noise,  flocked  from  all  the  surrounding  pastures  the 
hideous  hooded  crows,  with  their  sick  gray  coats  and 
sable  heads,  cawing  like  devils  ;  and  these,  too,  rushed 
at  the  eagle,  to  be  beaten  back  by  one  wave  of  the 
wrathful  wings.  It  was  a  sad  scene — power  eclipsed 
on  the  very  throne  of  its  glory,  taunted  and  abused  by 
carrion, 

"  Sick  in  the  world's  regard,  wretched  and  low," 

yet  preserving  the  mournful  sliadows  of  its  dignity 
and  kingly  glory.  Every  movement  of  the  eagle 
was  still  kingly,  nor  did  he  deign  to  utter  a  sound ; 
while  the  crows' and  ravens  were  detestable  in  every 
gesture — mean,  groveling,  and  unwieldy^ — and  their 
cruel  cries  made  the  echoes  hideous.  Round  the 
shoulder  of  the  hill  floated  the  king,  with  the 
imps  of  darkness  at  his  back.     We  fear  his  day  of 


282  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

death,  so  nii2;li  at  Land,  wa-i  to  be  very  sad.  Better 
that  the  passhig  sliepherd  should  put  a  bullet  through 
his  heart  and  carry  him  away  to  deck  some  gentle- 
man's hall,  than  that  he  should  fall  spent  yonder,  in- 
sulted at  his  last  gasp,  torn  at  by  the  fiends,  seeing 
the  leering  raven  whet  his  beak  for  slaughter,  and 
the  corby  perched  close  by,  eager  to  pick  out  the 
golden  and  beautiful  eyes. 

"  By  too  severe  a  fate, 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 
Fallen  from  his  high,  estate, 

And  welt'ring  in  his  blood  ; 
On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies. 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes." 

"VVe  were  not  loathe  to  see  him  go.  It  would  have 
required  a  hard  heart  to  take  advantage  of  him,  in 
the  last  forlorn  moments  of  his  reign. 

Just  as  he  passed  away,  there  started  out  from  the 
side  of  a  rock  a  ghastly  apparition,  glaring  at  us  with 
a  face  covered  with  blood,  and  looking  as  if  it  meant 
murder.  It  was  only  a  sheep,  and  for  the  moment  it 
amazed  us,  for  it  seemed  like  the  ghost  of  a  sheep, 
horrid  and  forbidding.  Alas  !  though  it  glared  in 
our  direction,  it  could  not  see ;  its  poor,  gentle  eyes 
had  just  been  destroyed,  the  red  blood  from  them  was 
coursing  down  its  cheeks ;  and  it  was  staggering, 
drunken  with  the  pain.  It  was  the  victim  of  the 
hoody  or  the  raven,  ever  on  the  watch  for  the  unwary, 
ready  in  a  moment  to  dart  down  on  the  sleeping 
lamb  or  the  rolling  sheep,  and  make  a  meal  of  its 
eyes ;  then,  with  devilish  chuckle,  to  track  the  blind 
and  tottering  victim  hither  and  thither,  as  it  feels  it.s 


SrOKT    IN    THE    WILDS.  '2^^ 

feeble  way  ainon<!j  tho  lieights,  until,  standing  on  the 
edge  of  some  high  rock,  it  can  be  startled,  with  a 
wild  beat  of  the  wings  and  a  hoarse  shriek,  right 
down  the  fatal  precipice  to  the  rocks  beneath ;  and 
there  the  murderer,  while  a  dozen  others  of  his  kind 
gather  around  him  in  carnival,  croaks  out  a  discordant 
grace,  and  plunges  his  reeking  beak  into  the  victim's 
heart. 

Though  we  slew  a  raven  and  a  half  a  dozen  corbies, 
having  after  that  night  sworn  a  savage  vendetta 
against  the  murderous  kind,  no  eagle  died  by  our  hand ; 
neither  eagle,  nor  red  deer,  nor  hooper,  nor  salmon. 
So  far  the  search  for  the  hunter's  badge  in  Ultima 
Thule  was  a  wretched  failure,  ending  only  in  humilia- 
tion and  despair.  But  we  have  at  least  taken  one 
step  in  the  right  direction  ;  for  we  can  avow,  by 
Diana  and  by  Nimrod,  or  (if  the  reader  likes  it 
better)  by  the  less  classic  shade  of  Colonel  Hawker, 
that  we  killed  a  seal,  and  did  so  under  circumstances 
which  may,  we  fancy,  be  quite  as  well  worth  relat- 
ing as  any  other  sporting  matter  recorded  in  these 
pages. 

It  was  up  among  the  fjords  of  Maddy  that  the  seal 
began  to  attract  our  attention.  They  were  floating 
about  in  considerable  numbers,  coming  quite  close  to 
the  yacht  at  times,  but  always  keeping  well  aloof 
whenever  there  was  the  slightest  smell  of  powder.  So 
one  day  the  punt  was  got  ready.  Big  Benjamin  and 
the  rifle  put  on  board,  and  the  Wanderer  and  hia 
henchman  started  off"  up  the  fjords. 

There  was  a  stifi"  breeze  from  the  east,  and  the  little 
boat  shot  swiftly  with  the  lugsail  through  the  island 


284  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

waters.  Every  now  and  then  the  head  of  a  seal 
popped  up  out  of  gunshot,  floated  for  some  minutes 
exactly  like  an  oscillating  leather  bottle,  and  then 
was  drawn  slowly  out  of  sight — still  like  a  bottle,  with 
the  neck  (or  snout)  upwards.  The  creeks  were  full  of 
female  eider  and  gool -ducks,  each  female  followed  by 
five  or  six  fluffs  of  down  in  various  stages  of  develop- 
ment ;  and  on  one  headland,  which  smelt  as  strongly 
of  stale  fish  as  a  lierring-boat,  a  whole  covey  of 
cormorants,  sitting  bolt  upright,  like  parsons  in  black 
coats  and  dingy  neckcloths,  were  basking  in  the 
sunlight.  The  sea-larks  twittered  everywhere,  the 
oyster-catchers  whistled,  the  curlews  screamed ;  and 
the  gulls,  scattered  all  around  as  thick  as  snowflakes, 
completed  the  chorus  with  their  constant  cries. 
There  was  a  rocky  point,  well  up  the  principal 
fjord,  which  we  had  ascertained  to  be  a  constant 
resort  of  the  seals,  and  on  which,  only  the  day  before, 
an  eye-witness  had  seen  no  less  than  forty,  old  and 
young,  taking  their  noonday  siesta  all  at  once.  To- 
ward this  point  we  ran  with  the  fresh  breeze,  not 
firing  a  shot  on  the  passage,  but  watching  warily 
ahead  ;  and  at  last,  when  in  full  view  of  the  rocks 
and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  we  liauled 
down  the  lugsail  and  "  lay  to  "  reconnoitering.  Ilamish 
Shaw's  quick  eye  discovered  seals  at  once,  and  the 
telescope  soon  showed  that  he  was  right.  There  they 
were,  three  or  four  at  least  in  number,  sunning 
themselves  snugly  on  the  very  outermost  rocks  of  the 
promontory,  ready,  on  the  slightest  alarm,  to  slipHko 
eels  into  the  water.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Shoot- 
ing them  from   the   boat  was     impos=ibV :  a  nearer 


SPORT    IN    THE   WILDR.  285 

approach  on  the  water  would  soon  scatter  them  to 
tlie  deeps.  However,  by  careful  stalking,  a  good  shot 
miffht  be  had  from  the  land.  About  a  hundred 
yards  behind  tlie  siesta,  rise  knolls  of  deep  grass,  in- 
termingled with  great  boulders,  and  among  these 
there  must  be  many  a  capital  point  of  vantage.  Luck- 
ily, the  knolls  were  well  to  leeward  of  the  seals,  and 
there  was  no  chance  of  the  wind  playing  traitor.  Be 
it  noted,  that  a  seal,  although  not  particularly  sharp- 
sighted,  has  as  fine  a  nose  as  a  stag  for  any  foul 
scent — such  as  that  exuded,  as  Dean  Swift  vowed 
and  as  delicate  monsters  know,  by  the  murderous 
monster  man. 

Leaving  Ilamish  in  charge  of  the  punt,  the  Wan- 
derer shouldered  the  rifle  and  made  a  long  detour 
inland,  not  venturing  to  turn  his  face  until  he  was 
well  to  leeward  of  his  quarry.  Then,  strapping 
the  rifle  on  his  back  in  backwoodsman  fashion,  and 
throwing  himself  down  on  his  hands  and  knees,  he 
began  crawling  slowly  toward  the  hidden  point. 
Ah,  my  Grub  Street  friends,  how  little  do  ye  think 
of  the  discomforts  of  the  wilds  !  The  ground  was 
squashy  as  a  sponge,  and  full  of  horrible  orifices, 
where  the  black  rain-water  gathered  and  grew  stag- 
nant. The  Wanderer's  knees  were  soon  soaking,  and 
ever  and  anon  he  plunged  up  to  the  elbows  in  a 
puddle,  treacherously  covered  vritli  green.  I3e  sure 
lie  muttered  no  blessings  Again  and  again  he  was 
on  the  point  of  rising  erect,  but  was  checked  by  the 
reflection  that  it  was  now  impossible  to  mend  matters, 
and  that  so  much  might  be  achieved  by  pushing  on. 

He  was  soon  close  to  the  knolls,  which,  instead  of 


2SC  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

affording  such  good  cover  as  he  had  anticipated,  lay 
pretty  well  exposed  to  the  view  of  the  black  gentle- 
men on  the  promontory.  Ila !  there  they  were, 
their  tails  cocked  up  in  the  air  like  a  Yankee's  legs, 
but  resting  on  nothing.  It  was  immediately  quite 
clear  that,  to  get  within  shot  of  all  or  any  of  them, 
the  Wanderer  must  learn  something  from  his  ancient 
enemy,  the  snake,  and  do  the  rest  of  the  stalking  on 
his  stomach. 

Did  you  ever  try  to  perform  this  feat — to  lie  straight 
down  on  your  face,  keep  your  whole  body  and  legs 
stiff,  and  wriggle  yourself  forward  with  your  ell)ows 
and  breast,  just  as  you  have  seen  the  clown  in  the 
pantomime  when  he  has  designs  on  the  pasteboard 
leg  of  mutton  in  the  flat  ?  If  you  are  fat,  don't 
attempt  it ;  it  is  fatiguing  if  you  are  lean.  But  add 
to  the  difficulties  of  the  feat  the  inconveniences  of 
doing  it  in  a  ])lace  as  wet  as  a  sponge,  and  thereby 
drenching  your  whole  person  with  the  green  water 
of  the  damp  morass,  and  you  have  some  idea  of  the 
Wanderer's  situation.  N^othing  daunted,  however,  he 
oozed  —  literally  oozed  —  through  the  long  grass, 
brushing  the  dirt  with  a  dip  of  his  nose,  and  glaring 
through  his  spectacles  at  the  prey.  Satan  himself 
could  not  have  manas-ed  better.  The  Wanderer  had 
his  reward,  for  the  seals,  unsuspicious  of  danger, 
remained  as  motionless  as  stones. 

Five  were  visible — three  very  large,  two  smaller — 
all  seated  less  than  a  hundred  yards  away.  Creeping 
behind  a  large  rock,  which  afforded  a  tolerable  rest 
for  the  rifle,  the  Wanderer  breathed  a  space,  for  he 
was  quite  exhausted  witli   his  labor,  and  then  pre- 


SrOHT    IN    THE    WILDS.  287 

pared  to  fire,      lie  trembled  very  much,  partly  witli 
fatigue,  partly  with  teiTor,  lest   he  might   miss  ;  but 
getting  two  in  line,  and  aiming   as   steadily  as   liis 
nerves  would  allow,  he  pulled  the  trigger.     A  sharp 
crack,  and  all  was  over.      The  smoke  curled  up  from 
the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  and  for  a  minute  he  thought 
that  he  had  missed.       But  no !  all  the  monsters  had 
disappeared  but  one,  whicli  was  floundering  w^ildly 
among   the   rocks,    and   making   for   the   sea.      The 
AVandcrer   ruslied    down,  ready  to  finisli    the   work 
with  the  butt  end  of  his  rifle,  but  before  lie   could 
reach  the  spot  the   seal  had  plunged  into  the  sea. 
Forgetting,  in  his  excitement,  to  load  again,  he  saw  it 
rise  and  sink  with  short,  painful  dives,  and,  at  last, 
with    a    deep  breatli,  it    turned    over    on    its    back, 
floundered,    and   sank    in    the   bubbles    of    its   own 
dying    breath.       By   the    time    that    Hamish    came 
round  with  the  punt  no  seal  was  there  ;    and,  indeed, 
the    rascal   seemed   to    receive   with    a   look   of  in- 
credulity the  news  that  any  one  had  even  been  hit 
at  all.      lie  rowed  over  the  spot  indicated,  looking 
do\vn  for  the  white  gleam  of  the  seal's  belly,  but  the 
water  was  very  deep,  and   the   slahi    one   was   lost 
beyond  all  hope  of  recovery. 

That,  reader,  was  the  seal  we  slew.  We  certainly 
did  not  "  ])ag  "  him,  but  wc  nevertheless  accredit  our- 
selves with  the  glory  of  his  death  ;  and  no  taunts  of 
the  ill-disposed  shall  make  us  change  our  opinion. 

Having  cleared  the  state-lounge  of  its  occupiers, 
and  sought  in  vain  for  other  loungers  on  shore,  we 
detennined  to  drift  about,  in  the  hope  of  getting 
chance  shots  from  the  boat.      The  water  was  full  of 


288  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

seals,  and  the  black  heads  were  still  coming  and 
going  in  all  directions.  Now,  it  was  a  fixed  and  de- 
termined superstition  of  Ilamish  Shaw  that  the  seal, 
heing  fond  of  music,  can  often  be  lured  within  gun- 
shot by  whistling  ;  and  it  was  a  pretty  sight,  finely 
illustrating  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  to  see 
the  Wanderer  and  his  henchman,  guns  in  hand, 
whistling  softly  to  attract  the  attention  of  some  black 
head  oscillating  out  of  range.  Neither  being  very 
musical,  but  producing  a  sound  like  the  grating 
described  by  Milton  on 

"  Scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw," 

their  melody  did  not  seem  to  have  much  efiect ; 
until  suddenly,  about  fifty  yards  away,  a  gray  old 
fellow  popped  his  head  through  the  water  and 
stretched  out  his  neck  for  a  good  stare  in  our  direc- 
tion. Shaw  continued  softly  whistling,  and  both 
took  aim  and  fired.  There  was  a  great  splash  in  the 
water,  and  the  seal  was  gone. 

It  is  the  opinion  of  a  capital  writer  on  field-sports, 
Mr.  John  Colquhoun  of  Bute,  that  "  all  swimming 
seals,  if  hit  at  all,  are  shot  through  the  head,  and 
immediately  spread  out  on  the  surface,  giving  ample 
time  to  row  up  and  seize  a  flipper,"  and  that  con- 
sequently all  stories  of  seals  shot  swimming,  and 
suddenly  submerged  in  deep  water,  are  at  the  best 
exceedingly  doubtful.  It  does,  indeed,  seem  reasonable 
to  avow  that  only  the  head  of  a  swimming  seal  can 
be  hit,  the  head  being  the  only  part  visible  ;  but  the 
bullet  may  not  necessarily  reach  the  brain,  and  death 
may  not  be  immediate. 


SrOllT    IN    THE    WILDS.  289 

Thus  ended,  not  gloriously,  our  sport  in  the 
Wilds.  None  of  the  great  trophies  were  won, 
though  keen  had  been  the  chase,  but  something 
better  had  been  gained — the  fresh  se;ise  of  new  life. 
Cold  and  exposure,  damp  and  hunger,  rain  and  wind, 
daily  acted  as  tonics  to  exhausted  nature ;  and  the 
Wanderov,  who  had  swallowed  enough  iron  to  make 
a  gun-barrel  and  enough  strychnia  to  poison  a 
boarding-school,  was  renewed  like  ^son  by  the 
rough  process  of  nature  herself.  To  the  weary  and 
exhausted,  he  recommends  such  a  cure  Avith  con- 
fidence Fight  with  the  elements  from  morn  to 
night,  fear  neither  cold  nor  wet,  defy  the  elements — 
and  the  cure  will  come  of  itself.  Nerve-exhaustion 
(nervousness  is  another  thing,  and  means  merely 
weak-mindedness)  is  the  one  thing  that  must  not  be 
coddled  and  humored. 

There  is  another  question,  however,  raised  by  the 
benevolent — the  cmelty  of  sport  as  blended  with  the 
sorrow  of  things  that  feel.  Now,  we  are  not  among 
those  enthusiasts  who  avouch  that  the  fox  and  hare 
enjoy  being  hunted,  and  that  nothing  is  more  glori- 
ous to  a  red  deer  than  being  shot  on  the  hillside ; 
and  we  will  yield  to  no  man  in  love  for  dumb 
things — we  hold  them  so  dear,  and  have  so  many  of 
them  around  us,  that  we  are  laughed  at  by  all  our 
friends.  Sport,  be  it  granted,  is  a  savage  instinct, 
yet  it  is  none  the  less  a  natural  one.  All  true  sports- 
men love  animals  better  than  men  who  do  not  love 
sport.  Well,  as  to  wild-shooting.  It  has,  in  our  eyes, 
this  grand  recommendation — it  combines  a  maximum 
of  hard  labor  and  skill  with  a  minimum  of  slaughter; 

13 


290  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

for,  in  the  eyes  of  the  wild-shooter,  a  prize  is  precious 
precisely  in  proportion  to  the  difficulty  of  capture. 
Pheasant-shooting  is  like  shooting  in  a  hen-house; 
pai-tridge-shooting  is  mere  murder  of  the  innocents  ; 
grouse-shooting  is  sometimes  as  bad ;  all  these  have 
for  their  main  object  the  filling  of  an  enormous  bag. 
But  in  -wild-shooting,  not  only  are  you  forced  to  con- 
tend with  mountainous  difficulties,  and  taken  into 
scenes  of  extraordinary  excitement,  but  you  are  amply 
satisfied  with  little  or  nothing  as  a  recompense.  One 
precious  ornithological  prize  is  "  bag  "  enough  for  a 
fortnight.  You  cannot  help  admitting  that  some  of 
your  feelings  and  deeds  are  savage,  but  you  have  the 
eatisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  odds  are  always 
twenty  to  one  against  you,  and  that  whatever  you  win 
is  secured  by  a  drudgery  quite  out  of  proportion  to 
the  value  of  the  capture. 


COASTING   SKYE.  291 


CHAPTER   Xm. 


COASTING     8KYE 


EfiFects  of  Cruising  on  Yacht  and  Voyagers— Rc-croesing  the  Minch— 
Northwest  Coast  of  Skye— Becalmed  oif  Loch  Snizort— Midnight- 
Lights  of  Heaven  and  Ocean— Dawn— Columns  of  the  North  Coast— 
The  Quirang— Scenerj'  of  the  Northeast  Coast— The  Storr— rortreo 
Harbor. 

Devious,  yet  persistent  as  a  crow  which  flies  weari- 
ly homeward  against  pitilessly  beating  rain  and 
wind — now  staggering  along  a  good  mile,  now  drift- 
ing backward,  overcome  by  some  blast  of  more  than 
common  fury — the  little  yacht  made  her  way  along 
the  rock-sown  coast  of  the  Long  Island.  All  the  ele- 
ments seemed  leagued  against  her,  and  we  flitted 
along,  from  anchorage  to  anchorage,  in  a  dense  and 
rainy  mist — literally,  "darkness  visible."  Such  a 
tiny,  stubborn,  desolate,  rain-bedraggled,  windstraw 
of  a  vessel  never  before  ventured  into  so  inhospitable 
a  region  ;  for  the  wild  sea-weed  grew  upon  her  and 
trailed  around  her  in  slimy  masses ;  her  sails  were 
torn  by  the  sharp  teeth  of  the  wind ;  her  ropes  rotted 
by  the  insidious  and  mildewy  slime  ;  her  once  bright 
pennon  was  a  rag — and  altogether,  but  for  the  ex- 
quisitely delicate  contour,  which  no  dirt  or  raggedness 
could  spoil,  she  might  have  been  taken  for  some  mis- 


292  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

erable  wherry  of  the  isles.  But  the  whirlwind  spared 
licr,  the  waves  melted  their  wrath  against  her,  and 
the  beating  rain  only  tightened  her  timber  ;  and,  not 
to  be  daunted  by  damp,  whirljiool,  hurricane,  or  any 
other  of  the  powere  of  that  eerie  region,  she  persisted  in 
her  cx])lorations  as  devotedly  as  any  little  lonely  lady 
in  "Wonderland.  As  for  the  voyagers,  they  had  long 
since  abandoned  all  attempts  to  look  civilized.  Their 
clothes  hung  upon  them  like  those  suits  with  which 
Jews  tempt  seafaring-men  in  Whitechapel.  Hamisli 
Shaw's  black,  corkscrew  ringlets  were  wildly  matted 
togetlier,  and  his  face  was  bristling  all  over.  Even 
Schneider,  the  dog,  looked  disreputable ;  for  the  salt 
water  and  sea  air  had  taken  all  the  gloss  and  curl  out 
of  her  coat,  and  her  poor  eyes  were  closed  up  with  a 
sort  of  influenza.  Kot  without  pleasure,  at  last,  did 
we  turn  homeward,  leaving  the  Long  Island  to  its 
loneliness  and  gloom. 

Our  first  intention  had  been  to  cruise  along  the 
coast  of  the  Outer  Hebrides  as  far  as  Stornoway ;  but 
we  had  spent  so  much  time  in  navigating  the  south- 
em  parts  of  the  Long  Island  that  we  paused  at  Loch 
Maddy,  and,  after  spending  a  week  in  examining  the 
surrounding  ^ords  and  islands,  thought  it  high  time 
to  recross  the  Minch  It  was  now  late  in  August, 
and  the  gales  of  wind  were  daily  becoming  more  fre- 
quent in  occurrence,  longer-lasting,  and  stronger 
while  they  lasted.  One  morning,  therefore,  we  left 
Loch  Maddy,  with  a  brisk  breeze  from  the  north,  and, 
lying  close  to  the  wind,  steered  straight  across  the 
Minch,  in  the  direction  of  the  northern  cliffs  of  Skye. 
Dim  in  distance,  Skye  loomed  before  us — the  north- 


COASTING    SKYE.  '^^-^ 

cm  crags,  the  great  lieights  of  Dunvegan,  !Maclcod's 
Maidens,  and  the  shadowy  Cuchidlins — and  far  away 
eastward,  the  faint  outline  of  the  mainhind  was  trace- 
able for  many  a  mile.  The  day  was  gray  and  dreamy, 
the  wind  steady  as  could  be,  the  waves  rising  and 
falling  with  a  deep,  slumbrous  murmur,  most  assuring 
to  the  mariner.  One  had  nothing  to  do  but  steer  the 
boat,  and  let  her  work  her  way  lightly  and  steadily 
over  the  easy  waters,  as  they  broke  in  dark,  foam- 
edged  masses  to  the  soutli. 

Although  there  seemed  little  perceptible  speed  on 
the  vessel,  she  gained  mile  after  mile  swiftly  enough, 
and  the  mouth  of  Loch  Maddy,  with  its  rocky  islands, 
began  rapidly  to  mingle  with  the  gray  line  of  sea, 
while  Skye  grew  darker  and  darker  as  we  approached, 
the  sleepy  masses  of  mist  gathering  on  all  its  heights 
as  far  as  eye  could  reach. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  we  passed  Dmivegan  Head, 
and  then  Vaternish  Point;  but  by  this  time  the 
breeze  had  grown  very  faint  indeed,  and  when  we  were 
in  the  middle  of  the  great  mouth  of  Loch  Snizort,  the 
wind  ceased  altogether.  For  hours  we  rolled  about 
on  a  most  uncomfortable  sea,  till  the  sun  sank  far 
away  across  the  Minch,  touching  with  red  light  the 
hazy  outline  of  the  Long  Island.  Then,  all  in  a  mo- 
ment, as  it  were,  the  eyes  of  heaven  opened,  very  dim 
and  feeble,  and  the  night — if  night  it  could  be 
called — came  down  with  a  chilly  sprinkle  of  invisible 
dew.  All  round  the  yacht  the  sea  burnt,  flashed  and 
murmured,  lit  up  by  innumerable  lights.  Wherever 
a  wave  broke  there  was  a  phosphorescent  gleam. 
The  punt  astern  floated  in  a  patch  as  bright  as  moon- 


294  THE    LAND    OT    LOKNK. 

liglit ;  and  every  time  the  counter  of  the  yacht  struck 
tlie  water,  the  latter  emitted  a  flush  like  sheet-light- 
ning. The  whole  sea  was  alive  with  millions  of  mir- 
aculous creatures,  each  with  a  tiny  light  to  pilot  him 
about  the  abysses.  Here  and  there  the  medusa  moved 
luminous,  devouring  the  minute  creatures  that  swarm- 
ed around  it,  terrible  in  its  way  as  the  Poulp  that  Vic- 
tor Hugo  has  caricatured  so  immortally  ;  *  and  other 
creatures  of  volition,  to  us  nameless,  passed  mysteri- 
ously; while  ever  and  anon  a  shoal  of  tiny  sethe 
would  dart  to  the  surface,  and  hover  in  millions 
around  the  yacht.  Though  there  was  no  moon,  the 
waters  and  the  sky  seemed  full  of  moonlight.  The 
silence  was  profound,  only  broken  by  a  dull,  heavy 
sound  at  intervals — whales  blowing  off  the  headland 
of  Dun  vegan. 

Midnight,  and  no  breeze  came.  The  sky  to  the 
north  unfolded  like  a  flower  blossoming,  and  the 
Northern  Lights  flitted  up  from  the  horizon,  flashing 
like  quicksilver,  and  filling  the  sight  with  a  peculiar 
thrill  of  mesmeric  sensation.  Lights  gleaming  on  the 
ocean,  the  eyes  of  heaven  glittering,  the  Aurora  flash- 
ing and  fading — with  all  these  the  sense  seemed  over- 
bm-thened.  Now  and  then,  as  if  the  pageant  were 
incomplete,  a  star  shot  from  its  sphere,  gleamed,  and 
disappeared. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  roll  about  on  the 
shinins;  sea  till  the  wind  came.  Leaving  Ilamish  at 
the  helm,  the  Wanderer  crept  into  the  cabin,  and  was 
soon  fast  asleep,  in  spite  of  the  lurching  of  the  yacht. 

*  "  Les  Travailleurs  de  la  Mer." 


COASTING    SKYE.  205 

He  was  awakened  by  the  familiar  sound  of  the  water 
rushing  past  a  vessel  under  sail ;  and,  without  open- 
ing his  eyes,  he  knew  that  the  yacht  had  got  a 
breeze.  Creeping  out  into  the  cockpit,  he  saw  the 
waters  quite  black  on  every  side ;  darkness  every- 
wliere,  save  where  the  first  cold  sparkle  of  day  was  be- 
ginning to  peep  above  the  far-off  mountains  of  the 
mainland. 

"We  were  in  luck ;  for  the  breeze  was  from  the 
northwest,  and  just  enough  for  us  to  carry.  When  day 
broke,  red  and  somber,  we  were  off  Ilunish  Point, 
and  saw  on  every  side  of  us  the  basaltic  columns  of  the 
coast  flaming  in  the  morning  light,  and  behind  us,  in 
a  dark  hollow  of  a  bay,  the  ruins  of  Duntulm  Castle, 
gray  and  forlorn.  The  coast  views  here  were  beyond 
expression — magnificent.  Tinted  red  with  dawn,  the 
fantastic  cliffs  formed  themselves  into  shapes  of  the 
wildest  beauty,  rain-stained  and  purpled  with  shadow, 
and  relieved  at  intervals  by  slopes  of  emerald,  where 
the  sheep  crawled.  The  sea  through  which  we  ran 
was  a  vivid  green,  broken  into  thin  lines  of  foam,  and 
full  of  innumerable  medusae,  drifting  southward  with 
the  tide.  Leaving  the  green,  sheep-covered  island  of 
Trody  on  our  left,  we  slipt  past  Aird  Point,  and  sped 
swift  as  a  fish  along  the  coast,  until  we  reached  the 
two  small  islands  off  the  northern  point  of  Loch  Staf- 
fin — so  named,  like  the  island  of  Staffa,  on  account  of 
its  columnar  ridires  of  coast.  Here  we  beheld  a  si<rht 
which  seemed  the  glorious  fabric  of  a  vision — a  range 
of  small  heights,  sloping  from  tlie  deep  green  sea, 
every  height  crowned  with  a  columnar  clrff  of  basalt, 
and  each  rising  over  each,  higlier  and  higher,  till  they 


296  THE    LAND    OF   LORNE. 

ended  in  a  cluster  of  towerincj  columns  minarets,  and 
spires,  over  which  hovered  wreaths  of  delicate  mist, 
suffused  with  the  pink  light  from  the  east.     AVe  were 
looking  on  the  spiral  })illars  of  the  Quirang.     In  a 
few  minutes  the  vision  had  faded ;  for  the  yacht  was 
flying  faster  and  faster,  assisted  a  little  too  much  by  a 
savage  puff  from  off  the  Quirang's  great  cliffs ;  but 
other  forms  of  beauty  arose  before  us  as  we  went. 
The  whole  coast  from  Aird  Point  to  Portree  forms  a 
panorama  of  cliff-scenery  quite  unmatched  in  Scot- 
land.    Layers  of  limestone  dip  into  the  sea,  which 
washes  them  into  horizontal  forms,  resembling  gigan- 
tic slabs  of  white  and  gray  masonry,  rising,  sometimes, 
fitair  above  stair,  water-stained,  and  hung  with  many- 
colored  weed ;  and  on  these  slabs  stand  the  dark  cliffs 
and  spiral  columns,  towering  into  the  air  like  the  fret- 
work of  some  Gothic  temple,  roofless   to   the   sky ; 
clustered  sometimes  together  in  black  masses  of  eter- 
nal shadow  ;  torn  open  here  and  there,  to  show  glimpses 
of  shining  lawns  sown  in  the  heart  of  the  stone,  or 
flashes  of  torrents,  rushing  in  silver  veins  through  the 
darkness;  crowned  in  some  places  by  a  green  patch, 
on  which  the  goat  feed,  small  as  mice;  and  twisting 
frequently  into  towers  of  most  fantastical  device  that 
lie  dark  and  spectral  against  the  gray  background  of 
the  air.     To  our  left,  we  could  now  behold  the  island 
of  Rona,  and  the  northern  end  of  Paasay.     All  our 
faculties,  however,  were  soon  engaged  in  contemplat- 
ing the  Storr,  the  highest  part  of  the  northern  ridge 
of  Skye,  terminating  in  a  mighty  insulated  rock  or 
monolith,  which  points  solitary  to  heaven,  two  thou- 
sand three  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  while  at  its 


COASTING    SKYE.  .        297 

base,  rock  and  crag  have  been  torn  into  the  wildest 
forms  by  the  teeth  of  earthquake,  and  a  great  torrent 
leaps  foaming  into  the  sound.  As  we  shot  past,  a 
dense  white  vapor  enveloped  the  lower  part  of  the 
Storr,  and  towel's,  pyramids,  turrets,  monoliths  were 
shooting  out  above  it,  like  a  supernatural  city  in  the 
clouds. 

Weary  and  exhausted  as  we  were,  we  gazed  on  pic" 
ture  after  picture  with  rapt  eyes,  looking  little  at  Raas- 
ay,  which  was  closing  us  in  upon  the  left.  At  every 
hundred  yards,  the  coast  presented  some  new  form  of 
perfect  loveliness.  We  were  now  in  smooth  water. 
The  red  dawn  had  grown  into  a  dull-gray  day,  and 
the  wind  was  coming  so  sharp  off  the  land  that  we 
found  it  necessary  to  take  in  a  reef.  We  had  scarce- 
ly beaten  into  Portree,  in  the  teeth  of  the  most  severe 
squalls,  when  the  bad  weather  began  in  earnest,  with 
some  clouds  from  the  northwest,  charged  like  mighty 
artillery  with  wind  and  rain.  Snug  at  our  anchor- 
age, we  smiled  at  the  storm,  and  heartily  congratulated 
ourselves  that  it  had  not  caught  us  off  the  perilous 
heads  of  Skye. 

Portree  is  the  capital  of  Skye,  and,  like  all  High- 
land capitals,  is  dreary  beyond  endurance,  and  with- 
out a  single  feature  of  interest.  After  lingering  a  day 
to  rest  our  weary  bodies,  we  left  the  harbor  on  a  rath- 
er black-looking  forenoon,  with  the  intention  of  slip- 
ping down  to  Loch  Sligachan,  a  distance  of  only  some 
eight  or  nine  miles,  and  of  lying  for  a  little  time  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  wonderful  Cuchul- 
lins.  The  little  Teryi  had  carried  her  mainsail  nearly 
all  the  journey  in  the  open,  and  now,  for  the  first  and 


29B  THE   LAND    OF    LOllNE. 

• 

second  time,  we  lashed  down  the  boom  ana  put  on 
the  "trysail" — just  for  the  purpose  of  shifting  com- 
fortably down  to  Sligachan.  Fortunate  for  us,  as  the 
event  proved,  tliat  we  did  so — for  we  left  without  a 
pilot,  and  were  destined  to  be  blown  on  somewhat 
sharply  by  the  mighty  Cuchullins. 

Tlie  wind  was  ahead,  and  had  fallen  so  much  that 
the  beating  down  was  very  slow  work  indeed  ;  and  we 
had,  therefore,  full  leisure  to  examine  all  the  fine 
"glimpses"  in  the  narrow  sound — the  mighty  clifis  of 
Skye,  piled  up  above  us  on  the  starboard  side,  the  un- 
dulating isle  of  Raasay  to  the  left,  the  gigantic  Storr 
astern,  and  Ben  Glamaig  rising  darkly  over  the  star- 
board bow.  Xothing  could  be  wilder  and  more  fan- 
tastic than  some  of  the  shapes  assumed  by  the  Skye 
cliffs,  nothing  finer  than  some  of  their  shadowy  tints. 
Contrasted  wdth  them,  Dun-Can,  of  Raasay,  on  the 
top  of  which  the  oracular  Doctor  and  Boswell  danced 
a  jpas  de  deux,  looked  like  a  mere  earthen  sugar-loaf 
beaten  flat  at  the  top.  All  under  Dun-Can  stretched 
a  brown  and  rocky  country,  pastoral  and  peaceful 
enough  in  parts,  and  having  even  green  slopes  and 
bright  heathery  glades,  together  with  fine  pieces  of 
artificial  woodland,  through  which  glittered  the  water- 
fall— 

"  A  silver  pleasure  in  the  heart  of  twilight !  " 

Strange  looked  the  Storr  behind  us,  rising  solitary 
into  the  sky,  with  its  satellite  pinnacles  and  towers 
lying  underneath  in  the  dark-blue  shade. 

Our  eyes  turned  with  most  eagerness,  however,  to- 
ward Ben  Glamaig,  now  scarcely  visible  in  a  thick, 


COASTING    SKYE.  '^09 

t 

purple  mist.  Cloud  after  cloud  was  settling  on  liis  sum- 
mit, sinkinfir  lower  and  lower,  to  mantle  him  from  fore- 
head  to  feet ;  and  the  long,  thread-like  film  of  the  fall- 
ing rain  was  drawn  down  his  darkness  with  faint  gleams 
of  light ;  yet  the  sea  about  us  was  quite  quiet,  and  the 
wind  was  ominously  still,  llamish  Shaw  cocked  his 
eye  up  at  the  giant  in  true  sailor  style,  but  delivered 
it  as  his  judgment  that  "  the  day  would  be  a  fine  day, 
tlio'  we  micht  may-be  liae  a  shoioe?'  y  "  and  llamish  had 
reason  on  his  side,  for  the  giants  of  Skye  sometimes  look 
very  threatening  when  they  mean  no  harm,  and  very 
friendly  when  they  are  drawing  a  great  breath  into 
their  rocky  lungs,  preparatory  to  blowing  your  boat 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

Altogether,  it  was  with  not  quite  comfortable  feel- 
in  o-s  that  we  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  mouth  of 
Sligachan.  The  place  bore  an  ugly  name — there  waa 
dano-er  above  and  danger  under — rocks  below  and 
squalls  above.  Eight  across  the  mouth  of  Loch  Sliga- 
chan stretches  a  dangerous  shoal,  leaving  only  a  pas- 
sable of  a  few  yards,  and  to  sail  through  this  at  all  it  is 
necessary  to  have  the  tide  in  your  favor.  Then,  as 
you  enter,  you  must  look  out  for  "  Bo  Sligachan  " — a 
monster  lying  in  wait,  just  under  water,  to  scrunch 
your  planks  behind  his  weedy  jaws.  Then,  again,  be- 
ware of  sq^iolls!  Down  the  almost  perpendicular 
sides  of  Ben  Glamaig,  down  the  beds  of  the  torrents, 
inaudible  till  it  has  sprung  shrieking  upon  you,  comes 
the  wind.  Talk  about  wind  !  Tou  know  nothing 
whatever  on  that  subject,  unless  you  have  been  in  a 
boat  among  these  mountains.  Huge  skifFs  have  been 
lifted  out  of  sheltered  nooks  made  expressly  for  their 


300  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

» 

reception — ^lifted  up,  twirled  rapidly  in  the  air  like 
straws,  and  smaslied  to  fragments  in  an  instant.  If  a 
hen  ventures  to  open  her  wings  sometimes,  up  she 
goes  in  the  air,  whisks  round  and  round  for  a  moment, 
and  comes  down  with  the  force  of  a  bullet — dead. 
The  mail-gig,  which  runs  at  the  foot  of  Ben  Glamaig, 
on  a  road  well  sheltered  from  the  worst  fury  of  the 
blast,  has  sometimes  to  stand  to  face  the  wind  for 
minutes  together,  knowing  that  it  would  certainly  be 
upset  if  the  squalls  caught  it  broadside.  Not  very 
long  ago,  a  great  schooner  was  capsized  and  foundered 
at  anchor  here,  by  a  sudden  gust,  just  because  she 
happened  to  have  one  or  two  empty  herring-barrels 
piled  upon  her  deck.  Next  to  Loch  Scavaig,  for  fury 
of  sudden  squalls,  comes  Loch  Sligachan.  In  the  lat- 
ter you  have  only  the  breath  of  Glamaig,  but  at  Sca- 
vaig, you  must  prepare  for  the  combined  blasts  of  all 
the  Cuchullins — all  the  giants  gathering  together  in  the 
mist,  and  manifesting  a  fury  to  which  Polypheme's 
passion  against  Ulysses  was  a  trifle. 

But  it  was  summer-time,  and  we  anticipated  noth- 
ing terrific,  otherwise  we  should  certainly  not  have 
ventured  yonder  in  so  frail  and  tiny  a  thing  as  the 
Tern.  We  had  already  falsified  all  the  dire  predic- 
tions which  greeted  us  on  setting  forth,  and  followed 
us  throughout  our  journey — we  liad  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  the  Minch,  penetrated  into  the  wild  fjords  of 
the  Long  Island,  beaten  round  the  northeast  coast  of 
Skye  in  the  open  sea — all  in  a  poor  little  crank  craft 
not  seven  tons  burden,  seven  feet  beam,  rigged  for 
racing,  and  intendedonly  for  river-sailing  in  very  mild 
weather.     Our  good  fortune,  instead  of  turning  our 


COASTING   SKYE.  301 

• 
brains,  had  made  lis  more  cautious  than  when  we  set 
forth.  Many  perils  escaped  liad  explained  to  us  the 
real  danger  of  oiir  attempt.  We  had  certainly  no  an- 
ticipation of  meeting  in  the  narrows  the  fate  which 
we  liad  escaped  so  often  in  the  open  sea. 

What  with  the  slight  wind,  and  the  weary  beating 
down  the  Sound,  we  did  not  sight  Sconser  Lodge, 
which  lies  just  at  the  mouth  of  Loch  Sligachan,  until 
the  sunset.  By  this  time  the  clouds  had  somewhat 
cleared  away  about  Glamaig,  and  glorious  shafts  of 
luminous  silver  were  working  wondrous  chemistry 
among  the  dark  mists.  We  put  about  close  to 
Raasay  House,  a  fine  dwelling  in  the  midst  of  well- 
cultivated  land,  and  feasted  our  eyes  with  the 
f  ntastic  forms  and  colors  of  the  Skye  clifia  to  the 
westward,  grouped  together  in  the  strange,  wild 
illumination  of  a  cloudy  sunset ;  domes,  pinnacles, 
spires,  rising  with  dark  outline  against  the  west,  and 
flitting  from  shade  to  light,  from  light  to  shade,  as 
the  mist  cleared  away  or  darkened  against  the  sink- 
ing sun  ;  with  vivid  patches  between  of  dark -brown 
rocks  and  of  green  grass  washed  to  glistening  emerald 
by  recent  rain.  It  was  a  scene  of  strange  beauty — 
Nature  mimicking  with  unnatural  perfection  the 
mighty  works  of  men,  coloring  all  with  the  wildest 
hues  of  the  imagination,  and  revealing  beyond,  at 
intervals,  glimpses  of  other  domes,  pinnacles,  and 
spires,  flaming  duskily  in  the  sunset,  and  crumbling 
down,  like  the  ruins  of  a  burning  city,  one  by  one. 
What  came  into  the  mind  just  then  was  not  Words- 
worth's sonnet  on  a  similar  cloudy  pageant,  but  those 


302  THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

wonderful  stanzas  of  a  wonderful  poem  by  the  same 
great  ])oet  on  the  eclipse  of  the  sun  in  1820  : 

"  Awe-stricken  she  beholds  the  array 
That  guards  the  temi)le  night  and  day  ; 
Angels  she  sees  that  might  from  heaven  have  flown, 
And  virgin  saints,  who  not  in  vain 
Have  striven  by  purity  to  gain 
The  beatific  crown — 

"  Sees  long-drawn  files, •concentric  rings, 
Each  narrowing  above  each  ;  the  wings 
The  iiplifted  palms,  the  silent  marble  lipa, 
The  starry  zone  of  sovereign  height — 
All  steeped  in  the  portentous  light ! 
All  suffering  dim  eclipse  !" 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  whj  these  lines  should  have 
arisen  in  our  mind  at  that  moment — for  no  stronger 
reason,  perhaps,  than  that  which  caused  the  figures 
themselves  to  rise  before  "Wordsworth  by  the  side  of 
Lugano.  He  had  once  seen  the  Cathedral  at  Milan, 
and  when  the  eclipse  came,  he  could  not  help  follow- 
ing it  thither  in  imagination.  These  faint  associations 
are  the  strangest  things  in  life,  and  the  sweetest 
things  in  song.  Portentous  light !  dim  eclipse  I 
These  were  the  only  words  truly  applicable  to  the 
scene  we  were  gazing  upon  at  that  moment ;  and 
those  few  words  were  the  chain  of  the  association — 
the  magical  charm  linking  sense  and  soul — bringing 
Milan  to  Skye,  filling  the  sunset  picture  with  the 
wings,  uplifted  palms,  and  'silent  lips  of  angels  and 


virgm  saints- 


All  steeped  in  the  portentous  light  t 
All  suffering  dim  eclipse  I" 


COASTING   SKYE.  303 

It  was  just  as  we  were  contemplating-  tliis  wonder 
that  the  water  blackened  to  windward,  and  we  wore 
laid  over  with  the  first  squall  from  Glamaig.  Wliat 
a  screaming  in  the  riggings  !  what  a  rattling  of  dishes 
and  buckets  in  the  forecastle  !  What  a  clutching  at 
spars  and  ropes  on  deck  !  It  was  gone  in  a  moment, 
and  the  Tern  dashed  buoyantly  forward.  The  wind 
had  freshened  suddenly,  and  we  were  bowling  along 
at  five  or  six  miles  an  hour,  carrying  trysail,  foresail, 
and  the  second  jib,  "We  were  still  a  good  two  miles 
from  Sconser  Lodge,  so  that  the  squalls,  when  they 
reached  ns,  had  lost  much  of  their  force.  Squall  sec- 
ond was  even  softer  than  the  first ;  we  laughed  as  it 
whizzed  through  the  rigging,  just  putting  the  bul- 
warks under,  and  we  were  still  further  encouraged 
by  a  sudden  brightening  of  the  Ben.  Fools!  that 
brightening  should  not  have  beguiled  us.  Ilamish, 
who  was  at  the  helm,  had  just  made  the  remark  that 
he  thought  "  the  nicht  would  be  a  good  nicht,"  and 
we  were  about  half  a  mile  off  the  mouth  of  Loch 
Sligachan,  when  squall  iJdrd^  coming  sheer  down  the 
sides  of  Glamaig,  smote  us  like  a  thunderbolt,  and  with 
a  terrific  shriek  laid  the  Tern  clean  upon  her  broadside. 
It  was  a  trying  moment ;  the  trysail  trailed  in  the 
water,  and  the  water,  covering  all  the  decks  to  leeward, 
poured  in  a  light-green  stream  into  the  cockpit,  and 
even  through  the  hatches  into  the  cabin.  The  cook 
screamed  from  below  amid  an  awful  clatter  of  rub- 
bish, and  those  on  deck  shivered  and  looked  pale. 
"  Off  wi'  the  foresail !"  screamed  Ilamish  ;  and  it  was 
done  in  an  instant.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the 
little  craft  would  never  right,  but  slowly  she  emerged 


^'O-t  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

from  her  bath  and  was  shaken  up  in  the  wind,  shiver- 
ing like  a  half-drowned  bird.  All  breathed  hard  af- 
ter the  escape.  After  such  a  warning  it  was  consid- 
ered advisable  to  exchange  the  big  jib  for  the  little 
storm  one — which  was  done,  and  eased  the  boat  very 
considerably. 

Well,  it  is  useless  to  go  on  with  further  details  of 
our  entry  into  Sligachan.  So  determined  did  the 
wind  seem  to  oppose  our  passage  and  give  us  a 
ducking,  that  once  or  twice  we  actually  thought  of 
turning  tail  and  running  back  to  Portree.  But  we 
persevered,  even  without  a  local  pilot,  and  the  tide 
being  nearly  full,  we  passed  over  sunken  dangers 
with  comparative  safety.  At  the  narrowest  part  of 
the  passage  we  could  see  the  bottom,  and  actually 
grazed  it  with  our  keel.  But  the  winds  were  the 
worst.  The  anchorage  was  right  at  the  foot  of 
Glamaig,  so  that  the  nearer  we  drew  the  fiercer  and 
more  sudden  were  the  squalls.  The  people  gathered 
on  shore,  evidently  expecting  to  see  us  get  into 
trouble.  To  their  astonishment,  however,  we  shook 
the  little  Tern  through  every  blast,  righted  and  saved 
her  at  each  moment  of  peril,  and  finally  dropped  an- 
chor safely  before  it  was  quite  dark.  How  we  should 
have  fared  on  a  really  stormy  day  it  is  not  difficult  to 
guess.  This  was  an  ordinary  evening,  somewhat 
windy,  but  what  the  men  of  Sligachan  called  "  good 
v/eather."  So  terrific^  however,  is  the  suction  of  the 
hills  beyond,  and  so  sheer  the  descent  of  Glamaig  to 
the  water,  that  winds  which  are  mild  elsewhere  bo- 
come  furious  here.     Keep  us  from  Sligachan  after  Oc- 


COASTING   SKYE,  30.") 

tobcr,  when  the  soutliwester  begins  to  conie  witli  its 
mighty  rain-clouds  ov(}r  the  sea  ! 

While  we  are  on  the  subject  of  squalls,  we  may 
complete  our  report  against  Ben  Glaniaig  by  stating 
that  on  one  occasion,  during  our  stay  in  the  loch, 
although  we  were  only  about  two  hundred  yards 
from  low-water  mark,  we  could  hold  no  communi- 
cation with  the  shore  for  a  night  and  a  day,  and 
were  all  that  time  watching  anxiously  lest  the  TeDi's 
heavy  mast  should  founder  her  at  anchor.  "  Half  a 
gale  "  of  wind  was  blowing  ;  and  with  many  of  the 
squalls  the  boat,  though  perfectly  bare  of  canvas,  lay 
over  so  much  as  to  ship  water  into  the  cockpit.  The 
wind  came  straight  off  Glamaig,  and  though  there 
was  no  "  fetch  "  whatever,  there  was  scarcely  a  dark 
spot  between  us  and  the  shore — all  was  churned  as 
white  as  snow. 

That  night,  shut  up  on  board  his  little  vessel,  the 
Wanderer  read  again  King  Haco's  Saga,  and  put 
it  into  new  language  for  the  English  public.  All 
through  the  voyage  he  had  been  thinking  of  Ilaco  and 
his  chiefs ;  and  how  they  had  haunted  that  coast  in 
their  strange  ships,  leaving  everywhere  the  traditions 
of  their  race.  Skye  still  rings  with  tliem.  Portree 
is  still  "the  King's  Harbor;"  "Kyleakin  "  remains 
the  "  Passage  of  King  Ilakon."  How  they  fared 
among  the  perilous  waters,  is  a  tale  worth  telling, 
and  most  fittingly  in  the  narrow  inland  sounds  of 
Skye,  where  Haco  the  King  and  his  invading  fleet 
will  never  be  forarotten. 


sou  THE    LAND    01''    LUiiNE. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

THK    SAGA  OF    HACO    THE    KING.* 


KIKO  ALEXANDER'S   DREAM   AND   DEATH. 

When  Haco  the  King  ruled  over  Norway,  King; 
Alexander,  son  of  William,  sent  from.  Scotland  in 
the  Western  Sea  two  bisho})S  to  King  Ilaco,  begging 
him  to  give  up  those  lands  in  the  Hebrides  which 
King  Magnus  Barefoot  had  unjustly  taken  from  King 
Malcolm.  King  Haco  answered,  that  Magnus  had 
settled  with  Malcolm  what  districts  the  Norwegians 
should  have  in  Scotland,  or  in  the  islands  which  lie 
near  it,  adding,  moreover,  that  the  King  of  Scot- 
land had  no  rule  in  the  Hebrides  at  the  time 
when  King  Magnus  won  them  from  King  Godfred, 
and  also  that  King  Magnus  had  only  taken  back 
hisbirthriglit.  Tlien  quoth  the  bishops,  "  Our  master, 
the  King  of  Scotland,  would  willingly  purchase  all  the 
Hebrides,  and  we  therefore  entreat   King   Haco    to 

*  Wherever,  in  the  following  translation,  I  have  used  a  modern 
Scotch  word,  such  as"  speired  "  (inquired), "  harried  "  (plundered), 
"kirk"  (church),  "  bairns  "(children),  it  is  to  be  understood  that 
tlie  modern  word  is  the  same  in  form,  sound,  and  meaning  as 
the  original  Icelandic. — K.  B. 


THE   8AGA    OF    IIACO    THK    KING.  ^07 

value  them  in  fine  silver."  But  Ilaco  liiughed,  saj- 
iri<5  lie  had  no  such  lack  of  pence  as  to  be  compelled 
to  sell  his  inheritance.  With  these  words  for  an 
answer  the  bishops  went  their  way. 

iSTow,  from  this  cause  there  speedily  arose  great 
coldness  between  the  kings ;  yet,  again  and  again, 
Alexander  the  Kino;  sent  fresh  messenjjers  with  new 
offers.  But  when  lie  could  not  purchase  those  lands 
of  King  Haco,  he  took  other  measures  in  hand 
which  were  not  princely.  Collecting  a  host  through- 
out all  Scotland,  he  prepared  for  a  voyage  to  the 
Hebrides,  and  vowed  to  win  those  islands  under  his 
dominion,  vowing  clear  and  loud  before  his  subjects 
that  he  would  not  rest  till  he  bad  set  his  flag  on  the 
cliffs  of  Thurso,  and  had  gained  all  the  provinces 
which  the  Norwegian  monarch  possessed  west  of  the 
German  Ocean, 

In  these  days  King  Alexander  sent  word  to  John, 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  that  he  wished  to  speak  with  him. 
But  King  John  would  not  meet  the  Scottish  king 
till  some  earls  of  Scotland  had  pledged  their  honor 
that  he  should  fare  safely.  When  the  king  met 
the  Scottish  monarch  he  bade  King  John  that  he 
would  give  up  Kiamaburgh  into  his  power,  and 
three  other  castles  which  he  held  of  King  Haco, 
as  also  the  other  lands  which  King  Haco  had  given 
him.  But  John  did  well  and  uprightly,  and  said 
that  he  would  not  break  his  troth  to  King  Haco.  On 
this  he  went  away^  and  stopped  not  at  any  place  till 
he  came  quite  north  to  the  Lewis. 

That  smumer,  Alexander,  King  of  Scotland,  then 


308  THE    LAND    OF   LOIINE. 

lying  ill  Kiararey  Sound,  dreamed  a  dream.  He 
thouglit  tliat  three  men  came  to  him ;  one  of  them 
was  in  royal  robes,  but  very  stem,  ruddy  in  counte- 
nance, sliort  and  thick  ;  another  was  of  slender 
make,  but  active,  and  of  all  men  most  majestic  ;  the 
third,  again,  was  of  a  very  great  stature,  but  his 
features  were  wild  and  distorted,  and  he  was  un- 
sightly to  look  upon.  Now,  these  three  spoke  to 
Alexander  in  his  dream,  and  speired  whether  he 
meant  to  harry  the  isles  of  the  Western  Sea. 
Alexander  answered  that  he  certainly  meant  to 
win  back  the  isles  under  his  crown.  Then  those 
three  8i)irits  bade  him  go  back,  and  told  him  no  other 
course  would  turn  out  to  his  good.  The  king  told 
his  dream,  and  many  bade  him  to  return.  But  the 
king  would  not,  and  a  little  after  he  fell  sick  and 
died.  The  Scottish  army  then  broke  up  ;  and  they 
hare  the  king's  body  to  Scotland. 

Now  all  men  say  that  the  three  men  whom  the 
king  saw  in  his  sleep  were — St.  Olaf,  King  of  Nor- 
way ;  St.  Magnus,  Earl  of  Orkney ;  and  Columba, 
the  Saint  of  Icolmkill. 

11. 

KING    HACO    GATHERS    HIS    HOST. 

Then  the  Scottish  people  took  for  their  king 
Alexander,  the  son  of  Alexander,  who  married  the 
daughter  of  Henry,  king  of  England,  and  became  a 
raeikle  prince. 

In  the  summer  of  1262  there  came  to  Haco, 
King  of  Norway,  many  letters  from  the  kings  of  the 
Hebrides  in  the  Western  Seas,  complaining  sore  of  the 


THE    SAGA    OF    KAC'O    THE    KINCr.  300 

ill-deeds  of  the  Earl  of  Ross,  Kiarnach,  son  'of  Mac- 
Camal,  and  other  Scots.  These  same  burned  villaecori 
and  kirks,  and  killed  great  numbers  both  of  men  and 
Avomen.  They  had.  even  taken  the  small  bairns,  and, 
raising  them  on  the  points  of  their  s[)ears,  shook  them 
till  they  slipped  down  to  their  hands,  when  they  threw 
them  away,  dead,  on  the  ground.  The  letters  said, 
also,  that  the  Scottish  king  would  win  all  the 
Hebrides  if  life  was  granted  him. 

When  King  Ilaco  heard  these  tidings  they  gave 
him  much  uneasiness,  and  he  laid  the  case  before  his 
council.  Then  it  was  settled  that  King  Haco  should, 
in  the  ^vinter  season  about  Yule,  issue  an  edict 
through  all  Norway,  and  order  out  both  troops  and 
food  for  an  expedition.  He  bade  all  his  forces  meet 
liim  at  Bergen  early  in  spring. 

King  Haco  came  to  Bergen  on  Christmas.  He 
dwelt  there  during  the  spring,  and  made  ready 
swiftly  for  war.  After  that  a  great  number  of  barons 
and  officers,  and  vassals,  and  a  vast  many  soldiers 
came  in  daily  unto  him. 

King  Haco  held  a  general  council  near  Bergen,  at 
Backa.  There  the  meikle  host  came  together.  The 
king  then  cried  that  this  host  was  to  be  sent  against 
Scotland,  in  the  Western  Seas. 

During  this  voyage  King  Haco  had  that  great  ves- 
sel which  he  had  bade  them  build  at  Bergen.  It  was 
built  all  of  oak,  and  had  twenty  banks  of  oai-s.  It 
was  decked  with  beads  and  necks  of  dragons  beauti- 
fully overlaid  with  gold.  He  had  also  many  other 
well-found  ships. 

In  the  spring,  King  Haco  sent  John  Langlifeson 


310  ,     THE    LAND    OF    LORNE. 

and  Henry  iS(30tt  west  to  the  Orkneys,  to  get  pilots  for 
Scotland.  From  thence  John  sailed  to  the  Hebrides, 
and  told  King  Dugal  that  he  might  expect  an  army 
from  the  east.  Word  had  got  abroad  that  the  Scots 
would  harry  in  the  islands  that  summer.  King  Dugal 
therefore  spread  a  report  that  forty  ships  were  coming 
from  Norway.  Some  time  before  the  king  himself 
was  ready  he  sent  eight  ships  to  the  westward.  The 
captains  of  these  were  Ronald  Urka,  Erling  Ivarson, 
Andrew  Nicholson,  and  Halvard  Red. 

"When  the  king  had  built  his  ship,  he  went  with 
all  his  host  from  the  capital  to  Eidvags  ;  afterwards 
he  himself  hied  back  to  the  city,  and  dwelt  there 
some  nights,  and  then  set  out  for  llerlover.  Here 
came  together  all  the  troops,  both  from  the  north  and 
the  south. 

King  Haco  lay  with  all  his  force  at  Herlover ;  it 
was  a  mighty  and  glorious  host. 

Three  nights  before  the  Selian  vigils  King  Haco 
set  sail  for  the  German  Sea  with  all  his  fleet.  He 
had  now  been  King  of  Norway  six  and  forty  wintere. 
He  had  a  good  breeze,  the  weather  was  fair,  and  the 
fleet  beautiful  to  behold  sailing  southward  to  the 
islands  of  the  Western  Sea. 

HI. 

SAILING    OF    THE    GREAT    FLEET. 

King  Haco  had  a  company  chosen  well  for  his  own 
ship.  There  were,  on  the  quarter-deck,  Thorlife, 
Abbot  of  Holm,  Sir  Askatin,  four  priests,  chaplains 
to  the  king,  Andrew  of  Thissisey,  Aslac  Guss,  the 


THE    SAGA    OF   llACO    THE    KING.  311 

king's  master  of  the  horse,  Andrew  Ilawardson, 
(lUtliorm  Gillason  and  Tlioi-stein  his  brother,  Eirek 
Scot  Gautson,  with  many  others.  There  were  on  tlie 
main-dock :  Ashick  Dagson,  Steinar  Ilcrka,  Kloniit 
Langi,  Andrew  (Uims,  Eirek  Dugalson,  the  father  of 
King  Dugal,  Einar  Lang-Bard,  Arnhjorn  Suela,  Sig- 
vat  Bodvarson,  Iloskukl  Oddson,  John  Iloglif,  Arni 
Stinkar,  On  the  fore-deck  there  were :  Sigurd,  the 
son  of  Ivar  Rofu,  Ivar  Helgason  of  Lofloc,  Erland 
Scolbein,  Dag  of  Southeim,  Briniolf  Johnson,  Gudleik 
Sneis,  and  most  of  the  king's  chamberlains,  with 
Andrew  Blytt,  tlie  king's  treasurer.  There  were  in 
the  forecastle:  Eirek  Skifa,  Thornfin  Sigvald,  Kari 
Endridson,  Gudbrand  Johnson,  and  many  of  the  cup- 
bearers. There  were  four  men  on  every  half  rower's 
seat.  With  King  Haco,  Magnus,  Earl  of  Orkney, 
left  Bergen,  and  the  king  gave  him  a  good  galley. 
These  barons  were  also  with  the  king :  Briniolf  John- 
son, Fin  Gautson,  Erling  Alfson,  Erlend  Red,  J5ard  of 
Hestby,  Eilif  of  Naustadale,  Andrew  Pott,  and  Og- 
mund  Krekedants.  Erling  Ivarson,  John  Drotning, 
Gaut  of  Meli,  and  Nicholas  of  Giska,  were  behind 
with  Prince  Magnus  at  Bergen,  as  were  several  other 
officers  who  had  not  been  ready. 

King  Haco,  having  got  a  gentle  breeze,  was  two 
nights  at  sea,  when  he  reached  the  harbor  of  Shet- 
land, called  Breydeyiar  Sound,  and  from  thence  he 
sailed  to  Ponaldsvo  with  all  his  host. 

While  King  Haco  lay  in  Ronaldsvo,  a  great  dark- 
ness drew  over  the  sun,  so  that  only  a  little  ring 
was  bright  around ;  and  it  continued  so  for  some 
hours. 


312  THE   LAND    OF    LOKNE. 

IV. 

KING    HACO'S    8.VILING    SOUTHWARD. 

On  the  day  of  St.  Laurence's  wake,  Kins;  Haco, 
after  a  cruise  in  the  Orkneys,  sailed  with  all  his  forces 
to  a  haven  that  is  called  Ilasleviarvic,  from  that 
to  Lewis,  so  on  to  Raasa,  and  from  thence  to  that 
place  in  Skye  Sound  which  is  called  Calliach  Stone. 
Here  he  was  joined  by  Magnus,  King  of  Man, 
and  by  Erling  Ivarson,  Andrew  Nicholson,  and 
Hal  ward.  He  next  sailed  south  to  the  Sound  of 
Mull,  and  then  to  Kiararey,  where  King  Dugal 
and  the  other  Hebrideans  were  assembled  with  their 
men. 

King  Haco  had  now  more  than  one  hundred  ves- 
sels, for  the  most  part  large,  and  all  of  them  well 
prepared  both  with  men  and  weapons.  While  he 
abode  at  Kiararey  he  sent  fifty  ships  south  to  the 
Mull  of  Kintire  to  harry.  The  captains  of  the  same 
were  King  Dugal,  Magnus,  King  of  Man,  Bruniolf, 
Johnson,  Ronald  Urka,  Andrew  Pott,  Ogmund 
Krekedants,  Yigleic  Priestson.  He  sent,  also,  five 
ships  for  Bute  under  Erling  Red,  Andrew  Nicholson, 
Simon  Stntt,  Ivar  Ungi  Eyfari,  and  Gutthorm  the 
Hebridean. 

Then  did  Haco  the  King  sail  south  to  Gudey  before 
Kintire,  where  he  anchored.  There  he  met  John, 
Kinir  of  the  Isles,  whom  Kinjr  Haco  in  vain  be- 
sought  to  follow  him.  l^ut  King  John  said  he  was 
pledged  to  the  Scottish  king,  of  whom  he  held  more 
lands  than  of  King  Haco.  He,  therefore,  entreated 
King  Haco  to  dispose  of  all  those  estates  which  he 


THE   SAGA   OF   IIACO   THE   KING.  313 

had  conferred  upon  him.  King  Ilaco  kept  h'nn  witli 
him  some  time,  vainly  trying  to  win  him  back  to  his 
allegiance. 

During  King  Ilaco's  stay  at  Gudey,  an  abbot  of 
Greymonks  came  to  him,  bidding  him  spare  their 
cloister  and  Holy  Kirk.  The  king  granted  them  this, 
and  gave  them  his  own  promise  in  writing. 

Friar  Simon  had  long  lain  sick,  and  he  had  died  at 
Gudey.  His  corpse  was  carried  to  Kintire  and  bm*ied 
in  the  Greymonks  cloister.  They  spread  a  fringed 
pall  over  his  grave  and  called  him  Saint. 

In  those  days  came  men  from  King  Dugal,  and 
said  that  the  lords  of  Kintire  and  others  would 
surrender  their  lands  to  King  Haco,  and  follow  with 
their  clansm.en  under  his  banner.  Then  the  king 
said  that  he  would  not  harry  their  lands  if  they 
yielded  the  next  day ;  ere  noon  they  took  an  oath  to 
King  Haco  and  gave  hostages.  The  king  laid  a 
fine  of  a  thousand  herd  of  cattle  on  their  estates. 
Thereu]3on  Angus  yielded  up  Isla  also  to  the  king, 
and  the  king  granted  it  back  unto  him  as  liegeman 
to  ]S"orway. 

Soon  after  this  the  king  sailed  south  along  Kintire 
with  all  his  fleet,  and  anchored  in  Arran  Sound. 
Thither  often  came  barefooted  friars  from  the  King 
of  Scotland  to  King  Haco,  seeking  peace.  Here  King  ^ 
Haco  freed  his  prisoner.  King  John,  gave  him  many 
rich  gifts,  and  bade  him  go  in  peace.  Then  did 
he  swear  to  King  Haco  to  labor  at  all  times  to  make 
peace  between  him  and  the  King  of  Scots.  There- 
after King  Haco  sent  Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Hamer, 
Henry,  Bishop  of  Orkney,  Andrew  Nicholson, 
li 


314  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

Andrew  Plytt,  and  Paul  Soor  to  King  Alexander,  wlio 
met  them  honorably,  and  sent  envoys  to  King  Ilaco 
in  his  turn.  Now  King  Ilaco  had  writ  down  all  tho 
names  of  the  Western  Islands  which  he  called  his 
own,  and  King  Alexander  had  named  all  those  which 
he  would  not  yield.  These  last  were  Bute,  Arran, 
and  the  two  Cumbras.  But  the  Scots  willfully  held 
aloof  from  a  settlement,  because  summer  was  ending 
and  the  foul  weather  was  beginning.  Seeing  this, 
Ilaco  the  Kino;  sailed  in  under  the  Cumbras  with  all 
his  host. 

Thereafter  King  Haco  sent  as  envoys  a  bishop  and 
a  baron,  and  to  meet  them  came  some  knights  and 
cloistermen.  They  spoke  much,  but  could  not  agree, 
and  late  in  the  day  so  many  Scots  gathered  together 
that  the  Norwegians  feared  treachery  and  drew  away 
to  their  ships.  Many  now  bade  the  king  end  the 
truce  and  harry,  as  food  was  scant.  But  Ilaco  sent 
one  Kolbein  Kich  to  the  King  of  Scots  with  peace 
letters,  offering  that  the  kings  should  meet,  with  all 
their  host,  and  speak  of  peace.  If  peace,  by  God's 
grace,  took  place,  it  would  be  well ;  but  if  not,  then 
should  the  kings  fight  with  their  whole  host,  and  let 
him  win  whom  God  pleased.  The  King  of  Scots  was 
not  loath  to  fight,  but  said  little  in  answer.  Kolbein 
went  back  to  his  master,  and  thereupon  the  truce  was 
over. 

y. 

THE  king's   fleet   MEETS    WITH    A   GREAT   STORM. 

The  king  now  sent  sixty  ships  into  Skipa-Fjord 
(Loch  Long).    Their  commanders  were  Magnus,  King 


THE   SAGA   OF   IIACO   THE   KING.  3T5 


of  Man,  King  Dugal,  and  Allan  his  brother,  Angus, 
Margad,  A^iglcik  Pricston,  and  Ivar  Holm.  "When 
they  came  to  the  head  of  the  Fjord,  they  took  their 
boats  and  drew  them  over  the  land  to  a  great  wa- 
ter which  is  called  Loch  Lomond.  On  the  far  side 
thereof  yas  a  rich  earldom  called  Lennox,  and  in  the 
center  were  many  islands,  well  peopled,  whicli  the 
Korthmen  wasted  with  fire,  destroying  also  all  the 
buildings  on  the  water  side. 

Allan,  brother  of  King  Dugal,  marched  far  into  the 
land,  slew  many  men  and  took  many  hundred  head 
of  cattle.  Thereafter  the  Northmen  went  back  to 
their  ships.  They  met  with  so  great  a  storm  that  ten 
of  their  ships  were  wrecked  in  the  Fjord.  It  was 
now  that  Ivar  Holm  took  that  sickness  of  which  he 
died. 

King  Haco  still  lay  in  the  open.  Michaelmas 
happened  on  a  Saturday,  and  on  Monday  night  after 
there  came  a  great  tempest  with  hailstones  and  rain. 
The  watch  on  the  forecastle  of  the  king's  ship  called 
out  that  a  transport  vessel  was  driving  against  their 
cable.  The  men  leapt  up  on  deck,  but  the  rigging  of 
the  transport  caught  the  prow  of  the  king's  ship  and 
carried  away  its  figure-head.  The  vessel  then  fell  so 
foul  aboard  that  its  anchor  grappled  the  ropes  of  the 
king's  ship,  which  straight  began  to  drag  its  anchor. 
Whereupon  the  king  bade  them  cut  the  transport's 
cable,  which  being  done,  she  drove  out  to  sea.  The 
king's  ship  now  rode  safe  till  daylight.  In  the  morn- 
ing, at  flood  tide,  the  transport  was  cast  ashore, 
together  with  a  galley.  The  wind  still  rose,  the 
king's    men   got   more   ropes   and   cast  out   a   fifth 


S16  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

anchor.  The  king  himself  rowed  ashore  in  his  boat 
to  the  isles  and  ordered  mass  to  be  sung.  Meantime 
the  ships  dragged  up  the  sound,  and  the  storm  was 
so  fierce  that  some  cut  away  their  masts  and  others 
drove  ashore.  The  king's  ship  still  drove,  though 
seven  anchors  had  been  cast  out.  They  threw  out  an 
eighth,  which  was  the  sheet  anchor.  The  ship  still 
drove,  but  at  last  the  anchors  held  fast.  Five  ships 
went  ashore.  So  great  was  the  storm  that  men  said 
magic  had  done  it,  and  the  fall  of  rain  was  dreadful 

Now  when  the  Scots  saw  that  the  vessels  had 
driven  ashore,  they  gathered  together  and  approached 
the  Northmen,  and  threw  at  them.  But  the  North- 
men fought  well  and  fiercely,  sheltered  by  their  ships ; 
the  Scots  made  several  attacks  at  intervals,  killing 
few  men,  but  wounding  many.  Then  King  Ilaco 
sent  boats  with  men  to  help  them. 

Lastly,  the  king,  with  Thorlaug  Bosa,  set  sail  for 
the  shore  in  a  barge.  At  his  coming  the  Scots  fled, 
and  the  Northmen  passed  the  night  ashore.  But  in 
the  night  the  Scots  entered  the  wrecked  transport 
and  bare  off  what  they  could.  The  morning  after 
the  king  landed  with  many  armed  folk ;  he  ordered 
the  vessel  to  be  lightened  and  towed  out  to  the  fleet. 

YX 

THE   BATTLE    OF    LAR08. 

A  little  after  that  they  saw  the  Scots,  and  they 
thousrht  the  Ivini;  of  Scotland  was  there  himself, 
because  the  host  was  so  great.     Ogmund  Krekedants 


THE   SAGA   OP   HACO    THE   KING.  817 

stood  on  a  height,  and  his  men  with  him.  Tlic  Scots 
attacked  him  with  their  van,  and  approached  liim  in 
so  great  force  that  the  Korthmen  begged  the  king  to 
row  out  to  his  ships  and  to  send  them  help.  The 
king  would  stay  on  land,  but  they  would  not  let  him 
bide  in  such  danger,  and  he  rowed  out  in  his  boat  to 
his  fleet  in  the  open  sound.  These  barons  abode 
ashore :  Andrew  Nicholson,  Ogmund  Krckedants, 
Erling  Alfson,  Andrew  Pott,  Ronald  Urka,  Thorlaug 
Bosi,  and  Paul  Soor.  All  the  fighting  men  with 
them  on  land  were  eight  hundred  or  luore.  Of  those, 
two  hundred  were  on  the  height  with  Ogmund,  but 
the  rest  were  gathered  together  on  the  beach.  Then 
the  Scots  drew  nigh,  numbering  near  fifteen  hundred 
knights  ;  their  horses  had  all  breast-plates,  and  many 
Spanish  steeds  were  clad  in  mail.  The  Scots  had 
also  many  soldiers  on  foot  well  weaponed,  most  of 
them  with  bows  and  spears. 

Kow  the  Northmen  on  the  height  drew  back  slowly 
toward  the  sea,  thinking  that  the  Scots  might  sur- 
round them.  Andrew  Nicholson  then  came  up  to 
the  height,  and  bade  Ogmund  to  back  slowly  to  the 
beach,  and  not  fly  like  routed  men.  The  Scots  there- 
upon attacked  them  fiercely  with  darts  and  stones. 
Many  were  the  weapons  showered  on  the  Northmen, 
who  defended  themselves  stoutly  as  they  went.  But 
when  they  came  to  the  sea,  all  rushing  swifter  than 
they  should,  their  fellows  on  the  beach  fancied  they 
were  routed ;  wherefore  some  leaped  into  their 
boats,  and  rowed  in  them  from  shore,  and  others 
leaped  into  the  transport.  The  soldiers  called  out  to 
them  to  stay,  and  some  few  men  returned.     Andrew 


318  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

Pott  leaped  over  two  boats  and  into  a  third,  and  bo 
from  land.  Many  boats  sunk  down,  and  some  men 
were  drowned.  After  that  the  Northmen  on  shore 
turned  about  towards  the  water. 

Here  fell  Ilaco  of  Steine,  attendant  of  Ilaco  the 
King.  Then  were  the  Norwegians  driven  south  from 
the  transport,  and  these  were  their  leaders  :  Andrew 
Nicholson,  Ogmund  Krekedants,  Thorlaug  Bosi,  and 
Paul  Soor.  Hard  blows  were  dealt,  and  the  foemen 
were  ill-matched,  for  ten  Scots  fought  against  each 
Northman. 

There  was  a  young  knight  of  the  Scots,  named 
Ferash,  and  rich  both  in  birth  and  gear.  He  had  a 
helmet  all  gold,  and  set  with  precious  stones,  and  his 
armor  was  also  gold.  He  rode  up  to  the  Northmen, 
but  none  followed.  He  rode  up  to  the  Northmen, 
and  then  back  to  his  own  host.  Then  Andrew 
Nicholson  came  close  to  the  ranks  of  the  Scots.  He 
met  that  brave  knight  and  struck  at  him  so  fiercely 
that  he  cut  through  the  armor  into  his  thigh,  and 
reached  even  to  the  saddle.  The  Northman  took  off 
his  costly  belt.  Then  began  hard  blows.  Many  fell 
on  both  sides,   but  most    of    the    Scots,   as  Sturlas 


Bings : 


"  Gathered  in  circle. 
With,  clangor  of  armor 
Our  youth  struck  the  mighty 
Donners  of  armlets ; 
Limbs  dead  and  bloody 
Glutted  the  death-birds. 
Who  shall  avenge  now 
The  mighty  belt-wearer?" 


THE   SAGA   OF    IIACO   THE   KING.  319 

While  this  fight  was  raging,  there  was  so  great  a 
storm,  that  King  Haco  saw  no  hope  of  landing  liis 
host.  Yet  Ronald  and  Eilif  of  Naustadale  rowed 
ashore  with  men  and  fought  fiercely,  together  with 
those  Northmen  who  had  fled  in  their  boats.  Honald 
was  driven  back  to  his  ships,  but  Eilif  stood  firm. 
The  Northmen  now  ranged  themselves  anew,  and 
the  Scots  took  the  height.  There  were  constant 
fights  with  stones  and  darts ;  but  toward  the  end  of 
day  the  Northmen  rushed  up  against  the  Scots  on  tlie 
hill.  The  Scots  then  fled  from  the  height,  and  betook 
themselves  to  their  mountains.  The  Northmen  then 
entered  their  boats,  and  rowed  out  to  the  fleet,  and 
came  safely  through  the  storm.  At  morning  they 
returned  to  land  to  look  after  those  who  had  fallen. 
Among  the  dead  were  Haco  of  Steine  and  Thorgisl 
Gloppa,  the  king's  housemen. 

There  fell  also  a  good  bondsman  from  Drontheim, 
called  Karlhoved,  and  another  froiu  Fiorde,  called 
Ilalkel.  Besides  these  there  perished  three  Light- 
Swains,*  Thorstein  Bat,  John  Ballhoved,  and  Ilal- 
ward  Buniard.  The  Northmen  could  not  tell  how 
many  of  the  Scots  fell,  for  their  dead  bodies  were 
taken  up  and  carried  to  the  woods.  Haco  ordered  his 
dead  men  to  be  carried  to  Holy  Church. 

vn. 

KENG  HACO   SAILS   NOKTHrWAItD. 

The  fifth  day  after  that  the  king  took  up  his  an- 
chor, and  guided  his  ship  close  under  the  Cumbras. 

*  Kerti-sveinar,  Masters  of  tlie  Lights. 


S20  THE   LAND   OP   LORNE. 

That  day  came  unto  liim  tlie  ships  -which  had  sailed 
np  Skipa-Fjord.  The  fast-day  after  it  was  good 
weather,  and  the  king  sent  his  vessels  ashore,  to  burn 
the  ships  which  had  been  wrecked ;  and  that  same 
day,  a  little  after,  the  king  sailed  past  Cumbra  out  to 
JMelansey,  and  lay  there  several  nights.  Here  came 
unto  him  the  messengers  he  had  sent  to  Ireland,  and 
told  ]iim  that  the  Irish  Northmen  would  support  his 
host  till  he  freed  them  from  the  rule  of  the  English 
king.  Haco  longed  much  to  sail  to  Ireland,  but  the 
wind  was  not  fair,  lie  took  counsel,  and  the  whole 
host  wished  him  not  to  sail.  He  said  to  them  t]^at  he 
would  depart  for  the  Hebrides,  for  the  host  was  short 
of  food.  Then  did  Haco  the  King  order  the  corse  of 
Ivar  Holm  to  be  carried  into  Bute,  and  there  it  was 
buried. 

After  that  the  king  sailed  under  Mclansey,  and 
lay  some  nights  under  Arran,  and  then  to  Sandey, 
and  so  to  the  Mull  of  Kintire,  and  came  close  under 
Gudey.  Then  sailed  he  out  to  Ila  Sound,  and  lay 
there  two  nights.  He  laid  ^crj  on  the  island  in 
three  hundred  head  of  cattle,  but  some  was  paid  in 
meal  and  cheese.  Then  Haco  the  Kino;  sailed  the 
first  Sunday  in  winter,  and  met  so  mucli  storm,  witli 
wrack,  that  scarce  a  ship  bore  its  sails.  Then  the 
king  took  haven  in  Kiararey,  and  there  messengers 
went  between  him  and  King  John,  but  to"  little  end. 
At  this  time  the  king  was  told  that  his  men  had  liar- 
ried  much  in  Mull,  and  slain  some  men  of  Midi,  and 
that  two  or  three  Northmen  had  fallen. 

Next,  King  Haco  sailed  from  the  Calf  of  Mull,  and 
lay  there  some   nights.     There  he  was  left  by  King 


THE   SAGA   OF   IIACO   THE   KING.  321 

Dugald  and  Allan  his  brother ;  and  the  king  gave 
them  those  estates  which  King  John  had  owned. 
Magnus,  King  of  Man,  and  other  Islesmen,  had  de- 
parted before.  To  Riidri  he  gave  Bute,  and  Arran 
to  Margad.  To  Dugald  he  gave  the  castle  in  Kintire, 
which  Guthonn  Backa-Rolf  had  taken  in  the  summer. 
In  this  manner  had  Ilaco  the  King  gained  back  all 
those  lands  which  KinirMafrnus  Barefoot  had  wrested 
from  the  Scots  and  the  Islesmen. 

Haco  the  King  sailed  from  the  Calf  of  Mull  to 
Rauney,  and  from  Hauney  northward.  The  wind 
blowing  against  him,  he  sailed  into  Wester-Fjord,  in 
Skye,  and  levied  food  of  Islesmen.  He  next  sailed 
past  Cape  Wrath,  and  at  Dvrness  the  weather  fell 
calm,  and  the  king  let  the  ships  be  steered  into  Gia- 
Fjord.  This  was  the  Feast  of  the  two  Apostles, 
Simon  and  Jude,  and  the  mass  day  was  a  Sunday. 
The  king  lay  there  for  the  night.  On  the  mass  day, 
after  mass  was  sung,  there  came  to  him  some  Scots, 
whom  the  Northmen  had  taken.  The  king  gave 
them  liberty  and  sent  them  up  the  country,  and  made 
them  promise  to  come  back  with  cattle  ;  but  one  was 
left  behind  in  hostage.  That  same  day  nine  men  of 
Andrew  Biusa's  ship  went  ashore  for  water,  and  a 
little  while  after  a  cry  was  heard  from  the  land.  The 
crew  rowed  to  shore  from  the  fleet,  and  saw  two  men 
f  swimming,  wounded  sore,  and  took  them  aboard;  but 
seven  were  slain  on  land,  without  arms,  while  their 
boat  was  aground.  The  Scots  then  fled  to  a  wood, 
while  the  Northmen  lifted  their  dead.  On  the  Mon- 
day, King  Ilaco  sailed  from  Gia-Fjord,  and  gave  lib- 
erty to  the  Scottish  hostage,  and  set  him  ashore.     That 

14* 


322  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

"  niglit  the  king  came  to  Orkney,  and  lay  in  a  sound 
north  from  Asmnndsvo ;  thence  he  sailed  for  Ro- 
naldsvo  and  most  of  his  fleet  with  him.  As  they 
sailed  over  Pentland  Fjord  there  rose  a  great  whirl- 
pool, into  which  fell  a  ship  of  Rygia-fylke,  and  all 
men  there  were  drowned.  John  of  Hestby  drove 
through  the  straits,  and  came  near  being  wrecked  in 
the  gulf;  but  with  God's  grace  the  ship  was  forced 
east  to  the  open  sea,  and  lie  hied  to  Norway. 

"VThile  King  Ilaco  lay  in  Orkney  most  of  his  ships 
sailed  to  Norway,  some  with  the  king's  leave,  but 
many  gave  themselves  leave.  The  king  had  said 
at  first,  when  he  came  to  the  islands,  that  he  would 
steer  straight  home ;  but  the  wind  was  in  his  teeth, 
and  he  thouglit  to  Ijide  in  the  Orkneys  during  the 
winter.  He  named  twenty  ships  to  stay,  and  gave  the 
rest  leave  to  go.  All  his  vassals  remained,  save  Eilif 
of  Naustdale,  who  sailed  eastward  home;  but  many 
of  the  best  men  in  tlie  land  abode  with  the  kine:. 
Then  the  king  sent  letters  to  Norway,  concerning  the 
things  he  should  need.  After  All  Saints'  mass  the 
king  sailed  his  ships  to  Medalland  Harbor,  but  he 
spent  one  day  at  Ronaldsha. 

vni. 

KING  HACO'S   SICKNESS. 

The  Saturday  ere  Martinmas,  King  llaco  rode  out  to 
Medalland's  Harbor,  and  after  mass  lie  fell  very  sick. 
At  night  he  was  aboard  his  ship,  but  at  morning  he 
let  mass  be  sung  on  land.  Afterward  he  held  a 
council  where  the  ship  should  lie,  and  bade  his  men 


THE   SAGA   OF   IIACO   THE   KING.  323 

look  "well  after  their  vessels.  After  that  each  slvipper 
took  charge  of  his  own  ship.  Some  were  laid  up  in 
MedallancVs  Haven,  and  some  in  at  Skalpeid. 

Next,  King  Ilaco  went  to  Skali>eid  and  rode  to 
Kirkwall,  and  there  abode  in  the  bishojj's  palace  with 
such  men  as  dined  at  his  board.  Here  the  kinsr  and 
the  bishop  kept  each  his  board  in  the  hall  for  his  own 
men,  but  the  king  dined  in  the  room  above.  Andrew 
Plytt  looked  after  the  king's  table,  and  gave  to  each 
of  the  followers  his  share.  After  all  that  was  ar- 
ranged, the  divers  skippers  went  where  their  ships 
were  laid  np.  The  barons  in  Kirkwall  were  Briniolf 
Johnson,  Erling  Alfson,  Ronald  Urka,  Erling  of  Bir- 
key,  John  Drotning,  and  Erlend  Red.  The  other 
barons  were  in  their  districts. 

King  Ilaco  had  all  the  summer  worked  much  and 
anxiously,  and  had  slept  little,  and  when  he  came  to 
Kirkwall  he  lay  sick  in  bed.  When  ho  had  lain  some 
nights  the  sickness  lessened,  and  he  was  on  foot  three 
days.  The  first  day  he  walked  in  his  rooms,  the 
second  he  heard  mass  in  the  bishop's  chapel,  and  the 
third  day  he  went  to  Magnus  Kirk  and  around  the 
shrine  of  the  holy  Earl  Magnus.  He  then  ordered  a 
bath  and  was  shaven.  Then,  some  nights  after,  he  sick- 
ened again  and  lay  again  in  bed.  In  his  sickness  he  had 
read  to  him  the  Bible  and  Latin  books.  But  finding 
he  grew  sad  in  thinking  on  these  things,  he  had  read 
to  him  night  and  day  books  of  the  North — first  the 
lives  of  holy  men,  and  when  these  were  ended,  tlie 
tales  of  our  kings  from  Halden  the  Swart,  and  so  of 
all  the  Northern  kings,  each  after  each.  Haco  the 
King  found  his  sickness  still  increase.     He  thought, 


324  THE   LAND   OF   LOENE. 

tlierefore,  of  tlie  pay  due  to  his  troops,  and  ordered  a 
mark  of  fine  silver  to  each  court-man,  and  half  a 
mark  to  each  of  the  light-swains  and  other  followers. 
He  let  all  the  silver  plate  of  his  hoard  he  weighed, 
and  ordered  it  to  he  given  forth,  if  the  realm-silver 
was  too  little.  King  Ilaco  was  shriven  the  night  be- 
fore St.  Lucia's  mass.  There  were  there  Thorgisl, 
Bishop  of  Stavanger,  Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Ilamar, 
Henry,  Bishop  of  Orkney,  Abbot  Thorleif,  and  many 
other  learned  men,  and  before  he  was  smeared  all  said 
farewell  to  the  king  and  kissed  him.  He  still  spake 
clear,  and  his  favorites  asked  him  if  he  had  any  other 
son  besides  Prince  Magnus,  or  any  other  heirs  who 
miirht  share  in  the  state.  But  he  vowed  that  he  had 
no  other  son  and  no  daughter  but  what  all  men  knew. 
Then  were  read  the  Sagas  of  the  kings  down  to 
Suerer,  and  he  ordered  them  to  read  the  life  of  Suerer, 
and  to  read  it  night  and  day,  as  often  as  he  was 
awake. 

IX. 

KING  HACO'S   DEATH   AND   FUNEKAIj. 

The  mass  day  of  St.  Lucia  was  a  Thursday,  and  on 
the  Saturday  after  the  king's  sickness  grew  so  great 
that  he  lost  speech,  and  at  midnight  Almighty  God 
called  Kins:  Haco  out  of  this  home's  life.  These 
barons  beheld  his  death:  Briniolf  Johnson,  Erliug 
Alfson,  John  Drotning,  Ronald  Urka,  and  some  sei-v- 
inf  men  who  had  been  near  the  king  ifi  his  sickness. 
Directly  after  he  died,  bishops  and  learned  men  were 
sent  for,  and  mass  was  sung.  Then  all  the  folk  went 
torth,  save  Thorgisl  the  Bishop,  Briniolf  Johnson,  and 


THE   SAGA   OF   HACO   THE   KING.  325 

two  otlicr  men,  who  watched  the  body,  and  did  all  tlio 
service  due  to  so  mighty  a  lord  and  prince  as  was 
Ilaco  the  Kiny;.  On  Saturday,  the  corpse  was  carried 
into  the  hii2;h  chamber,  and  set  on  a  bier.  The  body 
was  clad  in  rich  raiment,  and  a  garland  set  on  his 
head  ;  and  all  bedight  as  became  a  crowned  monarch. 
The  light-swains  stood  with  tapers,  and  the  whole  hall 
was  lit.  Then  went  all  folk  to  see  the  body,  and  it 
was  fair  and  blooming,  and  the  face  was  fair  in  hue 
as  in  living  men.  There  was  great  solace  of  the  grief 
of  all  there  to  see  their  departed  hing  so  richly  dight. 
Then  was  suns:  the  hiirh  mass  for  the  dead.  The 
nobles  kept  wake  by  the  corpse  through  the  night.  On 
Monday,  the  body  was  borne  to  Magnus  Kirk,  and 
royally  laid  out  that  night.  On  Tuesday,  it  was  laid 
in  a  kist,  and  buried  in  the  choir  of  St.  Magnus  -Kirk, 
near  the  steps  of  the  shrine  of  St.  Magnus,  the  Earl. 
Afterward,  the  tomb  was  closed,  and  a  pall  spread 
over.  Then  was  it  settled  that  wake  should  be  kept 
all  winter  over  the  grave.  At  Yule,  the  bishop  and 
Andrew  Plytt  made  feasts,  as  the  king  had  ordered 
before  he  went,  and  good  gifts  were  given  to  all  the 
host. 

Now,  King  Haco  had  given  orders  that  his  corse 
should  be  carried  east  to  I^orway,  and  he  would  be 
graved  near  his  father  and  other  kinsmen,  and  about 
the  end  of  winter  was  launched  that  meikle  ship 
which  Haco  the  Kino;  had  in  the  west.  On  Ash  Wed- 
nesday,  the  corse  of  the  king  was  taken  out  of  the 
earth  ;  this  was  on  the  third  of  the  nones  of  March. 
The  court-men  then  went  with  the  corse  to  Skalpeid 
to  the  ship.     The  chief  leaders  of  the  ship  were  Thor- 


326  THE  LAND  OF  LOENE. 

gisl,  the  bisliop,  and  Andrew  Plytt.  They  sailed  the 
first  Saturday  in  Lent,  and  met  hard  weather,  and  an- 
chored south  in  Silavog.  Thence  they  sent  letters  to 
Prince  Marrnus,  and  told  him  the  tidino-s.  Afterward 
they  sailed  north  to  Bergen.  They  came  to  Silavog 
before  the  mass  of  St.  Benedict.  On  mass-day,  Prince 
Magnus  met  the  corse.  The  ship  was  brought  near 
the  ting's  palace,  and  the  corse  was  placed  in  the  sum- 
mer-hall. The  morning  after,  it  was  borne  out  to 
Christ  Kirk.  There  went  with  it  Magnus  the  King, 
the  two  queens,  and  court-men  and  town  folk.  After 
that,  the  body  was  buried  in  the  choir  of  Christ  Kirk  ; 
and  Magnus  the  King  spake  to  the  folk  with  many 
good  words.  There  stood  all  the  folk  in  great  grief, 
as  Sturlas  sings : 

"  Three  niglits  came  tlie  miglity 
Warriors  to  Bergen, 
Ere  in  the  earth-vale 
Lay  the  wise  ruler. 
The  pale  weapon-breakers 
Stood  gathered  around  him, 
Full  weeping  and  joyless. 
(Meikle  strife  followed.)" 

Haco  the  King  was  buried  three  nights  before  the 
mass  of  Mary;  this  was  after  the  birth  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  one  thousand  two  hundred  and  sixty- 
three  years. 


GLEN   8LIGACIIAN   AKD   Till:   CLCilULU^'y.  327 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GLEN    SLIGACHAN   AND   THE   CUCHTJLLIN8. 

ScoDBor  and  Sligachan — Party  and  Guide — Dawn  on  the  Cuchullins — 
Scuir-na-Gilleau — A  Rhapsody  on  Geology — Fire  and  Ice — The  Path 
along  the  Glen — Ilart-o'-Con-y — Ben  Blaven — A  Monologue  on  Ossian— 
Schneider  and  the  Ked  Deer— First  Glimpse  of  the  "Corryof  the 
Water  " — Lochan  Dhu. 

The  Cucliullin  Hills  are  the  Temple  of  Ossian,  and 
the  temple  has  two  porches — Sligachan  and  Scavaig. 
Having  now  fairly  halted  on  the  threshold  of  one,  we 
stood  close  to  an  enchanted  world.  Opposite  our 
anchorage  was  the  village  of  Sconser — a  number  of 
rude  hovels  scattered  on  the  hillside,  with  many  fine 
patches  of  green  corn  and  potatoes,  and  bits  of  excel- 
lent pasture  for  the  cows.  A  smack  was  at  anchor 
close  to  us,  skilFs  were  drawn  up  above  high-water 
mark,  and  nets  were  drying  everywhere  on  the  beach  ; 
and  we  soon  ascertained  that  the  herring  were  "  up 
the  loch."  Right  above  us,  as  we  have  said,  rose 
Ben  Glamaig,  towering  to  a  desolate  and  barren  cone, 
seamed  everywhere  with  the  beds  of  streams,  and 
covered  with  the  gray  sand  and  loose  rocks  deposited 
in  seasons  of  flood.  At  times  this  red  mountain  is 
a  worthy  neighbor  of  the  Cuchullins,  but  at  others, 
notably  when  the  sun  is  very  bright  and  the  air  very 


328  THE  LAND  OF  LORNE. 

clear,  it  appears  sufficiently  common-place.  Common- 
place is  an  adjective  at  no  time  applicable  to  Scuir- 
na-Gillean  or  Blaven  ;  tliese  are  magnificent  in  all 
weathers,  no  sunlight  being  able  to  rob  tliem  of 
the  wildly  beautiful  outlines  and  lurid  tints  of  the 
hypersthene. 

Situated  at  the  head  of  the  loch  is  Sligachan  Inn, 
the  cleanest,  snuggest,  cheapest  little  place  of  the 
sort  in  all  the  Highlands  of  Scotland.  Here,  on  the 
morning  after  our  arrival,  we  procured  ponies  and  a 
guide,  and  preceded  in  ordinary  tourist-fashion  to 
make  our  way  to  the  heart  of  the  temple — to  the 
melancholy  lake  of  Corruisk,  distant  about  nine 
miles  from  the  head  of  Sligachan.  Our  party  num- 
bered five,  including  the  guide.  Two  were  mounted, 
while  the  Wanderer  and  Hamish  Shaw  trudged  on 
foot.  The  guide  (a  gloomy  Gael  of  thirteen,  as  sturdy 
as  a  whin-bush,  and  about  as  communicative)  led  the 
way,  uttering  ever  and  anon  an  eldritch  whistle  much 
like  the  doleful  scream  of  the  curlew.  Our  way  lay 
up  Glen  Sligachan,  along  a  footway  discernable  only 
by  the  experienced  eye  ;  and  we  had  scarcely^  pro- 
ceeded a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  inn,  when  the 
Cuchullins,  in  all  their  grandeur  and  desolation,  began 
to  gather  upon  us — 

"  Taciti,  soli,  e  sanza  compagnia  " — * 

their  wild  outlines  showing  in  strange  contrast  to  the 
conical  Red  Hills,  so  called  from  the  ruddy  hues  of 
the  syenite  and  porphyry  of  which  they  are  com- 
posed.    Chief  of  the  Red  Hills  is  Glamaig ;  king  of 

*  "  Inferno,"  cant,  xxiii. 


GLEN   SLIOACIIAN   ANB   THE   CUCmn.LTNF!.  329 

tlie  Cucliullins  is  Blaabliein"  or  Blaven.  Down  the 
round  sides  of  Glamais;  rolls  the  red  dchris  of  irravel  and 
sand,  washed  into  dark  lines  by  innumerable  water- 
courses, and  giving  to  the  Ion  el}'  hill  the  aspect  of  a 
huge  cone  slowly  moldering,  rusting  and  decompos- 
ing, save  where  the  deep  heather  gathers  on  its  hollow 
flanks  below.  But  Blaven,  like  all  his  brctliren,  pre- 
serves the  one  dark  liue  of  hypcrsthene,  while  his 
sides  are  torn  into  craggy  gulfs  and  lurid  caves,  and 
his  hooked  forehead  cuts"  in  sharp  silhouette  the  gray 
and  silent  sky.  The  mountainous  part  of  Skye  con- 
sists of  these  two  groups,  so  strangely  contrasted  in 
shape  and  color,  so  totally  unlike  in  geological  com- 
position,* The  range  of  the  Cucliullins  is  almost 
completely  detached  from  that  of  the  Eed  Hills  by 
the  valley  of  Glen  Sligachan. 

Our  start  was  made  soon  after  dawn,  and  as  we 
entered  the  great  glen  the  mists  of  morning  still 
brooded  like  white  smoke  over  the  hills  on  either 
side,  while  far  away  eastward  the  clouds  parted  above 
the  mountain-tops,  and  revealed  a  glimpse  of  heaven, 
green  as  the  delicate  outer  leaves  of  the  water-lily. 
The  rain  had  fallen  heavily  during  the  night,  and  the 
dead  stillness  of  the  air  was  broken  only  by  the  low 
murmur  of  the  streams  and  new-born  runlets.  Passing 
by  a  glassy  pool  of  Sligachan  Bum,  we  saw  a  young 
salmon  leap  glittering  like  gold  two  feet  into  the  air, 
giving  us  therewith  his  prophecy  of  a  still  and 
windless   day;   and   while   Schneider   the   wayward, 

*  See  tlie  admirable  treatise  on  tlie  "  Geology  of  the  Cucliulliu 
Hills,"  by  Professor  Forbes,  of  St.  Andrew's, 


330  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

warm  already  in  anticipation,  plunged  in  for  her 
morning  bath,  up  rose  the  old  cock-grouse  from  the 
margin  of  the  pool,  and  fled,  screaming  his  warning 
to  the  six  or  eight  little  "cheepers"  which  were 
following  the  old  hen  swiftly  and  furtively  through 
tlie  deep  heather.  The  sun  broke  out  on  the  burn, 
and  it  was  full  day.  The  damp  rocks  gleamed  like 
silver,  the  heather  glittered  with  innumerable  gems. 
Not  a  member  of  the  party  but  caught  the  glad 
contagion.  The  ponies  pricked  up  their  ears,  and 
carried  their  riders  more  swiftly  along  the  devious 
track.  Schneider  went  raving  mad  with  delight,  and 
rushed  around  the  party  in  dripping  circles.  The 
Wanderer  leapt  like  a  very  hart  for  joy.  Ilamish 
Shaw  murmured  a  Gaelic  ditty  of  love  and  gladness ; 
and  the  boy-guide  answered  with  a  blither  scream. 

To  the  AYanderer,  however,  the  path  was  as  familiar 
as  to  the  guide,  for  he  had  trod  it  many  a  time,  both 
alone  and  in  the  best  of  company;  and,  indeed,  his 
present  rapture  was  far  more  allied  to  physical  delight 
in  the  glorious  dawn  than  to  thorough  perception  of 
the  beautiful  scenes  opening  up  around  him.  Such 
scenery — the  scenery  whose  appeal  is  to  the  soul — 
does  not  startle  suddenly ;  its  supreme  effect  is  subtle 
and  slow ;  the  first  emotion  in  perceiving  it  some- 
times even  is  like  disappointment.  The  Wanderer's 
mind,  too,  is  like  a  well,  profound,  of  course,  but  fed 
mysteriously  ;  slow,  very  slow,  to  gather  in  thouglits 
from  the  numberless  veins  and  pores  of  communica- 
tion. He  drank  the  dawn  like  an  animal — like  a 
ruminant  cow,  like  a  mountain-goat.  He  had 
scarcely   a  thought    for    the    marvelous  landscape. 


GLEN   SLIGACIIAN  .  AND   TIIE   CUCHULLINS.  331 

There  was  no  more  speculation  in  his  eyes  than  in 
those  of  the  guide.  Meantime  his  lieart  couhl  only 
dance,  his  brain  only  spin,  his  eyes  only  gleam.  lie 
saw  everything,  but  lightly,  dazzlingly,  through  the 
gleam  of  the  senses.  The  first  sip  of  the  mystic  cup 
merely  produced  intoxication. 

Then,  slowly,  minute  by  minute,  the  wild  animal 
instinct  cleared  off,  and  the  gray  light  of  spiritual 
perception  settled  into  the  eyes.  By  this  time,  the 
mists  on  either  side  of  the  glen  had  changed  into  mere 
solitary  vapors,  dying  a  lingering  death  each  in  some 
lonely  gorge  screened  from  the  sun  ;  and  the  moun- 
tains shone  darkly  beautiful  after  their  morning  bath 
of  rain.  Prominent  above  all,  on  the  northeast  side 
of  the  glen,  rose  the  serrated  outlines  of  Scuir-na- 
Gillean,  or  the  Hill  of  the  Young  Men,  so  named 
after  certain  shepherds  who  lost  their  lives  while  vainly 
endeavoring  to  gain  the  summit.  The  height  of  this 
mountain,  perhaps  the  highest  of  the  Cuchullins,  does 
not  exceed  3200  feet,  but  the  ascent  is  very  perilous. 
Rent  into  huge  fissures  by  the  throes  of  earthquake, 
titanic  and  livid,  from  foot  to  base  one  stretch  of 
stone,  without  one  blade  of  grass  or  green  heather,  it 
stretched  its  weirdly  broken  outline  against  a  wind- 
less and  cloudless  sky.  Few  feet  have  trod  its  highest 
cliffs.  In  1836,  when  Professor  Forbes  first  visited 
the  locality,  the  ascent  was  deemed  impossible. 
"  Talking  of  it,"  writes  the  Professor,  "  with  an  active 
forester  in  the  service  of  Lord  Macdouald,  named 
Duncan  Macintyre,  whom  I  engaged  to  guide  me  to 
Corruisk  from  Sligachan,  he  told  me  that  he  had 
attempted  it  repeatedly  without  success,  both  by  him- 


332  THE   LAND   OF   LOENE. 

self,  and  also  with  different  strangers,  who  had  en- 
gaged him  for  the  purpose  ;  but  he  indicated  a  way 
different  from  those  which  he  had  tried,  which  he 
thought  mio;ht  be  more  successful.  I  engaged  him  to 
accompany  me ;  and  the  next  day  (June  7)  we  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  the  top,  the  extreme  roughness  of 
the  rocks  (all  hypersthene)  rendering  the  ascent  safe, 
where,  with  any  other  formation,  it  might  have 
been  exceedingly  perilous.  Indeed,  I  have  never 
seen  a  rock  so  adapted  for  clambering.  At  this  time 
I  erected  a  cairn  and  temporary  flag,  which  stood,  I 
was  informed,  a  whole  year ;  but  having  no  barometer, 
I  could  not  ascertain  the  height,  which  I  estimated 
at  3000  feet.  In  1843  I  was  in  Skye  with  a  barome- 
ter, but'  had  not  an  opportunity  of  revisiting  the 
Cuchullins  ;  but  in  May,  1845,  I  ascended  the  lower 
summit,  nearly  adjoining,  marked  Bruch-na-Fray  in 
the  map ;  and  wishing  to  ascertain  the  difference  of 
the  height  of  Scuir-na-Gillean,  I  proposed  to  Mac- 
intyre  to  try  to  ascend  it  from  the  west  side.  It  was 
no  sooner  proposed  than  attempted.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  otherwise  than  descend  deep  in  the  rugged 
ravine  of  Loat-o'-Corry,  which  separates  the  simamits, 
and  then  face  an  ascent,  which  from  a  distance 
appeared  almost  perpendicular;  but,  aided  by  the 
quality  of  the  rocks  already  mentioned,  we  gained 
the  Scur-na-Gillean  from  the  west  side,  althouu-h  on 
reaching  the  top,  and  gazing  back,  it  looked  like  a 
dizzy  precijjice."  *      The    barometrical    record   and 

*  At  the  foot  of  one  of  the  precipices  the  mangled  body  of  a 
young  toiiriHt  was  discovered  during  the  autumn  of  1870.  The 
dead  man  was  one  of  two  friends  who  startid  to  malie  the  ascent 


GLEN   SLIGACHAN   AND   TIIE   CUCIIULLINS.  333 

geological  observations  made  by  the  Professor,  both 
here  and  elsewhere  among  the  Cuchullins,  are  of  the 
very  highest  interest.  Everywhere  among  the  moun- 
tains of  Skye  arc  to  be  traced  the  proofs  of  direct 
glacial  action.  Many  phenomena  can  be  described 
only  as  the  effects  of  moving  ice ;  and  it  would  be 
quite  impossible  to  find  these  phenomena  in  greater 
perfection  even  among  the  Alj^s. 

We  have  no  patience  with  those  imaginative  people 
who  are  so  far  fascinated  by  transcendental  meteors  as 
to  class  geology  in  the  prose  sisterhood  of  algebra 
and  mathematics.  The  typical  geologist,  indeed,  whom 
we  meet  prowling,  hammer  in  hand,  in  the  darkness 
of  Glen  Sannox,  or  rock-tapping  on  the  sea-shore 
in  the  society  of  elderly  virgins,  or  examining  Agassiz' 
atlas  through  blue  spectacles  on  board  the  High- 
land steamboat — this  typical  being,  we  repeat,  is  fre- 
quently duller  company  than  the  Free  Church  minis- 
ter or  the  domine ;  but  he  is  a  mere  fumbler  about 
the  footprints  of  the  fair  science,  with  never  the 
courage  to  look  straight  into  those  beautiful  blind 
eyes  of  hers,  and  discover  that  she  has  a  soul.  By 
what  name  shall  we  call  her,  if  not  by  the  divine 
name  of  Mnemosyne — the  sphinx-like  spirit  that 
broods  and  remembers — a  soul,  a  divinity,  brooding 
blind  in  the  solitude,  and  feeling  with  her  fingers  the 
raised  letters  of  the  stone-book  which  she  holds  in 
her  lap,   and  wherein   God  has  written  the  veritable 

of  Scuir-na-Gillean  togetlier ;  but  one  of  wliom,  being  taken 
slightly  unwell  ou  the  way,  returned  to  Sligachau  lun,  leaving 
his  comrade  to  proceed  to  the  heights  alone,  and  meet  there  his 
terrible  doom. 


334  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

"Legend  of  the  "World?"  A  prose  science? — say- 
rather  a  sublime  Muse  !  Why,  her  throne  is  made  of 
the  mountains  of  the  earth,  and  her  speech  is  the 
earth-slip  and  the  volcano,  and  her  taper  is  the  light- 
ning, and  her  forehead  touches  a  coronal  of  stars. 
Only  the  fool  misapprehends  her  and  blasphemes. 
Whoso  looks  into  her  face  with  reverent  eyes  is 
appalled  by  the  light  of  God  there,  and  sinks  to  his 
knees,  crying,  "  I  would  seek  unto  God,  and  unto 
God  would  I  commit  my  cause,  who  doeth  great 
things  and  unsearchable,  marvelous  things  without 
number." 

In  sober  words,  without  fine  writing  or  rapture,  it 
must  be  said  that  the  Cuchullins  cannot  lono;  be  con- 
templated  apart  from  their  geology.  Turn  your  eyes 
again  for  a  moment  on  Scuir-na-Gillean  !  Note  those 
somber  hues,  those  terrific  shadows,  that  jagged  out- 
line traced  as  with  a  frenzied  finger  along  the  sky.  It 
is  a  gentle  autumn  morning,  and  the  film  of  white 
cloud  resting  on  yonder  topmost  peak  is  moveless  as 
the  ghost  of  the  moon  in  an  Aj)ril  heaven.  Tliere  is 
no  sound  save  the  melancholy  murmur  of  water.  A 
strange  awe  steals  over  you  as  you  gaze ;  the  soul 
broods  in  its  own  twilight.  Then  as  the  first  feeling 
of  almost  animal  perception  fails,  the  mind  awakens 
from  its  torpor,  and  with  it  comes  a  sudden  illumina- 
tion. Along  those  serrated  peaks  runs  a  fiery  tongue 
of  fiamo,  tlie  abysses  blacken,  the  air  is  filled  with  a 
deep  groan,  and  a  thunder-cloud,  driving  past  in  a 
great  wind,  clutches  at  the  mountain,  and  clinging 
there,  belches  flame,  and  beats  the  darkness  into  fire 
with  wings  of  iron.     From  a  rent  above,  the  drifting 


GLEN  SLIGACIIAN   AND   THE   CUCIIULLINS.  335 

stars  gaze,  like  affrighted  eyes,  dim  as  corpsc-liglits. 
In  a  moment,  this  wonder  passes  ;  the  sudden  tension 
of  the  mind  fails,  and  witli  it  the  phantasm,  and  you 
are  again  in  the  torpid  condition,  gazing  dreamily  at 
the  jagged  outline  of  the  Titan,  dark  and  silent  in  the 
brightness  of  the  autumn  morning.  Again  Mnemo- 
syne waves  her  hand,  and  again  the  mind  flashes 
into  picture, 

"  O  lioary  liills,  thougli  ye  look  aged,  ye 

Are  but  the  children  of  a  latter  time  I 

Methinks  I  see  ye,  in  that  hour  sublime 
When  from  the  hissing  caldron  of  the  sea 
Ye  were  uphcaven,  while  so  terribly 

The  clouds  boiled,  and  the  lightning  scorched  ye  bare. 
Wild,  new-born,  blind.  Titans  in  agony. 

Ye  glared  at  heaven  through  folds  of  fiery  hair.  .  .  . 
Then,  in  an  instant,  while  ye  trembled  thus, 
A  Hand  from  heaven,  white  and  luminous. 

Passed  o'er  your  brows,  and  hushed  your  firey  breath. 
Lo  !  one  by  one  the  dim  stars  gathered  round  ; 
The  great  deep  glassed  itself,  and  with  no  sound 

A  cold  snow  glimmering  fell ;  and  all  was  still  as  death." 

You  have  now  a  glimpse  of  the  ninth  circle  of  the 
Inferno.  Surrounded  by  the  region  of  the  Cold 
Clime,  girt  round  on  every  side  by  unearthly  forms  of 
ice  and  rock,  you  see  below  you  vales  of  frozen  water, 
and  unfathomable  deeps,  blue  as  the  overhanging 
heaven.  Where  fire  once  raved,  snow  now  broods. 
Dome,  pyramid,  and  pinnacle  tower  around  with 
walls  and  crags  of  glittering  ice.  Winds  contend 
silently,  and  heap  the  snow  witli  rapid  breath.  Here 
and  there  gleams  the  vaporous  lightning,  innocent 
as  the  Aurora.  The  glaciers  slip,  and  ever  change. 
And  down  through  the  heart  of  all  this  desolation, 


336  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

past  the  very  spot  where  you  stand,  filling  the 
gigantic  hollow  of  Glen  Sligachan,  welling  onward 
with  one  deep  murmur,  carrying  with  it  mighty  rocks 
and  blasted  pine-trees,  rolls  a  majestic  river,  here 
burnished  black  as  ebony  in  the  rush  of  its  own 
speed,  there  foaming  over  broken  boulders  and 
tottering  crags,  and  everywhere  gathering  into  its 
troubled  bosom  the  drifting  glacier  and  the  melting 
snow. 

The  Wanderer  at  least  saw  all  this  plain  enough  as 
he  passed  along  the  weary  glen  in  the  rear  of  his 
party  ;  and  the  fanciful  retrospect,  instead  of  dulling 
the  scene,  lends  it  a  solemn  consecration.  Poor 
indeed  would  be  the  songs  of  all  the  Muses,  compared 
with  the  tale  of  Mnemosyne,  if  she  could  only  be 
brought  to  utter  half  she  knows. 

While  the  Wanderer  was  brooding,  the  riders  and 
their  guide  were  getting  well  ahead.  The  ponies 
were  little  shaggy  rascals,  with  short,  stumpy  legs, 
twisted  like  sticks  of  blackthorn,  knees  stiff  as  rusty 
hinges,  and  never  on  any  account  to  be  coaxed  into 
a  trot ;  small  eyes,  where  drowsiness  and  mischief  met ; 
their  invariable  pace  was  a  walk,  slow,  but  steady ; 
and  when  left  entirely  to  themselves,  they  could  be 
relied  on  to  pass  safely  where  the  most  cautious 
foot-traveler  stumbled.  The  little,  phlegmatic  fel- 
lows seldom  erred.  They  planted  their  feet  alike  on 
the  rolling  stone  and  the  slippery  rock,  choosing 
sometimes  the  most  unlikely  passages,  and  avoid- 
ing by  instinct  the  peat-bog  and  the  green  morass. 
Only  when  the  unskilled  rider,  in  his  human  vanitv, 
fancied  to  improve  matters  by  nning  the   rein   and 


GLEN    SLIGAC'IIAN   AND    THE   CUCIIULLINS.  337 

gniding  the  beast  into  what  looked  tlie  right  way, 
did    rider    and   steed    seem    in    danger   of   getting 
into  trouble.      And  what  a  road  was  that  to  travel  I 
More  than  once  on  the  way  did  the  Wanderer  con- 
gratulate himself  on  being  afoot.      Only  a  lynx's  eye 
could  have  made   out  the  pathway  along  the  glen. 
Everywhere    huge   boulders    were    strewn   thick   as 
pebbles,   intei-sected   constantly  by  brawling  bums, 
and   padded   round   with   knots  of  ancient  heather. 
To  the  left  the  heather  and  rock  clomb  over  many 
thymy  knolls,  until  it  fringed   the  base  of  the  Eed 
Hills,  which  rose  above,  round,  unpicturesque,  and 
discolored   with   rain-washed   sand.      To   the  risrht, 
also,   ever  stretched  heather   and   rock,   until  they 
mingled  in    imperceptible    shadow  into  the    deep- 
green  hypersthene  of  the  Cuchullins.      The  sun  now 
shone  bright,  but  only  deepened  the  shadows  on  the 
neighboring  hills,  and  still  not   a  sound  broke  the 
melancholy  silence.       "  In   Glen   Sligachan,   as    in 
many  other  parts  of  Skye,"  writes  Alexander  Smith, 
"the  scenery  curiously  repels  you,  and  drives  you  in 
on  yourself.     You  have  a  quickened  sense  of  your 
own     individuality.       The     enormous    bulks,    their 
gradual    receding    to    invisible    crests,    their    utter 
movelessness,  their  austere  silence,  daunt  you.      You 
are    conscious   of    their  presence,   and    you  hardly 
care  to  speak,   lest  you   be  overheard.     You  can't 
laugh ;  you  would  not  crack  a  joke  for  the  world. 
Glen  Sligachan  would   be  the  place  to  do  a  little 
self-examination  in.      There  you  would  have  a  sense 
of  your  own  meannesses,  selfishnesses,  paltry  evasions 
of  truth  and  duty,  and  find  out  what  a  shabby  fellow 

15 


338  THE   LAND    OF   LORNE. 

you  at  lieart  are;  and,  looking  up  to  your  silent 
fatlier-confesBors,  you  would  find  no  mercy  in  tlieir 
grim  faces."  Sucli,  doubtless,  is  the  efiect  of  the 
scene  on  some  men,  but  most  surely  on  those  who 
live  in  cities  and  read  Thackeray.  Glen  Sligachan 
is,  indeed,  weird  and  silent,  but  in  no  true  sense 
of  the  word  repelling.  The  eye  is  satisfied  at 
every  step,  the  shadows  and  the  silence  only  deepen 
the  beauty,  and  the  mood  awakened  is  one,  not 
of  shapeless,  shuddering  awe,  but  of  brooding,  mystic 

Pause  here,  where  your  path  is  the  dry  bed  of  a 
torrent,  and  look  yonder  to  the  northeast.  Between 
two  hills  opens  the  great  gorge  of  Hart-o'-Corry, 
which  is  closed  in  again  far  away  by  a  wall  of  livid 
stone.  'Tis  broad  day  here,  but  gray  twilight  yonder. 
In  the  hollow  of  the  corry  broods  a  dense  vapor,  and 
above  it,  down  the  deep-green  fissures  of  the  hypers- 
thene,  trickle  streams  like  threads  of  hoary  silver, 
frozen  motionless  by  distance ;  while  higher,  far 
above  the  rayless  abyss,  the  sky  is  serene  and 
hyacinthine  blue.  That  black  speck  over  the  top- 
most peak,  that  little  mark  scarce  bigger  than  the 
dot  of  an  i,  is  an  eagle  ;  it  hovers  for  many  minutes 
motionless,  and  then  melts  imperceptibly  away. 
From  the  side  of  Hart-o'-Corry,  Scuir-na-Gillean 
shoots  up  its  rugged  columns  ;  and,  close  to  the  mouth 
of  the  corry,  the  sharply  defined  sweep  of  the  deep- 
green  hypersthene,  overlaying  the  pale  yellow  felspar, 
has  an  effect  of  rai'e  beauty.  Turning  now,  and 
looking  up  the  glen  toward  Camasunary,  you  behold 
Ben  Blaven  closing  in  the  view,  and  towering  into 


GLEN   SLIGACII.VN   AND   THE   CUCHULLINS.  339 

the  slcy  from  precipice  to  precipice,  its  ashen  gi'ij 
Hanks  corroding  everywhere  into  veins  of  mineral 
green,  until  it  cuts  the  ether  with  a  sharp,  hooked 
forehead  of  solid  stone. 

'  O  "wonderful  mountain  of  Blavcn  ! 
How  oft  since  our  parting  hour 
Tou  have  roared  with  the  wintry  torrents. 

You  have  gh)omed  through  the  thunder-shower  I 
O  BLiveu,  rocky  Blaven  1 

How  I  long  to  be  with  you  again. 
To  see  lashed  gulf  and  gully 

Smoke  white  in  the  windy  rain — 
To  see  in  the  scarlet  sunrise 

The  mist-wreaths  perish  with  heat ; 
,  The  wet  rock  slide  with  a  trickling  gleam 

Right  down  to  the  cataract's  feet ; 
While  toward  the  crimson  islands. 

Where  the  sea-birds  flutter  and  skirl, 
A  cormorant  flaps  o'er  a  sleek  ocean  floor 

Of  tremulous  mother-of-pearl."* 

Blaven  stands  alone,  separated  from  the  chain  of 
Cuchullins  proper,  and  with  the  arms  of  the  Red 
Hills  encircling  him  and  offering  tribute.  It  is  sel- 
dom he  deigns  to  put  aside  his  crown  of  mist,  hut  on 
this  golden  day  he  is  unkinged.  "  The  sunbeam 
pours  its  light  stream  before  him  ;  his  hair  meets  the 
wind  of  his  hills,  his  face  is  settled  from  war,  the 
calm  dew  of  the  morning  lies  on  the  hill  of  roses,  for 
the  sun  is  faint  on  his  side,  and  the  lake  is  settled  and 
blue  in  the  vale." 

It  is  thus,  as  we  gaze,  that  the  thin  sound  of  the 

*  Alexander  Smith. 


340  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

voice  of  Cona  breaks  in  upon  our  meditations ;  "  O 
bard  !  I  hear  thy  voice ;  it  is  pleasant  as  the  gale 
of  the  spring  that  sighs  on  the  hunter's  ear,  when  he 
wakens  from  dreams  of  joy,  and  has  heard  the  music 
of  the  spirits  of  the  hill."  In  the  dreamy  wanderings 
of  our  mind  we  had  almost  forgotten  Ossian,  the  true 
spirit  of  the  mystic  scene.  O  ye  ghosts  of  the 
lonely  Cromla !  Ye  souls  of  chiefs  that  are  no  more ! 
ye  are  *'  like  a  beam  that  has  shone,  like  a  mist  that 
has  fled  away."  "  The  sons  of  song  are  gone  to  rest." 
But  one  voice  remains,  strange  and  sad,  "  like  a  blast 
that  roars  loudly  on  a  sea-surrounded  rock,  after  the 
winds  are  laid." 

What  the  Cuchullins  are  to  all  other  British  moun- 
tains, Ossian  is  to  all  other  British-  bards.  He  abides 
in  his  place,  neither  greater  nor  less,  challenging 
comparison  with  no  one,  solitary,  sad,  wrapt  in  eter- 
nal twilight.  Just  in  the  same  way  as  Glen  Sligachan 
repelled  Alexander  Smith,  the  song  of  Ossian  tires 
and  wearies  Brown  and  Kobinson  ;  fashionable  once, 
it  is  now  in  disrepute ;  by  Byron,  Goethe,  and 
Napoleon  cherished  as  a  solemn  inspiration,  and 
lately  pooh-poohed  as  conventional  and  artificial  by 
the  Saturday  Beviewer,  it  abides  forgotten,  like 
Blaven,  till  such  time  as  humorous  critics  may  care  to 
patronize  it  again.  It  keeps  its  place,  though,  as 
surely  as  Scuir-na-Gillean  and  Blaven  keep  theirs.  It 
is  based  on  the  rock,  and  will  endure.  Meantime,  let 
us  for  once  join  issue  with  Mr.  Arnold,  and  exchxim, 
"  Woody  Morven,  and  echoing  Lora,  and  Selnia  with 
its  silent  halls — we  all  owe  them  a  debt  of  gratitude ; 


GLEN   SLIGACIIAN   AND   THE   CUCHULLINS.  341 

and  when  we  are  unjust  cnougli  to  forget  it,  may  tlie 
Muse  forget  us !  "* 

As  to  the  question  of  authenticity,  that  need  not  be 
introduced  at  this  time  of  day.  Gibbon's  sneer  and 
Johnson's  abuse  prove  nothing.  In  this,  as  in  all 
matters,  Gibbon  was  a  skeptic,  as  worthy  to  be  heard 
on  Ossian  as  Voltaire  on  Shakespeare,  or  Gigadibs  on 
Walt  Whitman.  In  this,  as  in  everything  else, 
Johnson  was  a  bully,  a  dear,  lovable,  short-sighted 
bully,  as  fit  to  listen  to  Fingal  as  to  paint  the  scenery 
of  the  CuchuUins.  The  philological  battle  still  rages; 
but  few  of  those  competent  to  judge  now  doubt  that 
Macpherson  did  receive  Gaelic  MSS.,  that  the  origi- 
nals of  his  translations  were  really  found  in  the  High- 
lands— that,  in  a  word,  Macpherson's  Ossian  is  a  bona- 
fide  attempt  to  render  into  English  a  traditionary 
poetic  literature  similar  in  origin  and  history  to  the 
Homeric  poems.f  Truly  has  it  been  said  that  "  Ossian 
drew  into  himself  every  lyrical  runnel,  augmented 
himself  in  every  way,  drained  centuries  of  their  songs ; 
and  living  an  oral  and  gypsy  life,  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation,  without  being  committed  to 

*  "  On  tlie  Study  of  Celtic   Literature.''     By  Mattliew  Arnold. 

f  Since  this  paper  was  written  and  printed,  tlie  Rev.  Mr  Clark 
lias  published  his  two  exhaustive  volumes  of  Ossian,  containing 
the  Gaelic  originals,  Macpherson's  translation,  and  a  new  literal 
version,  with  a  capital  preliminary  dissertation  and  invaluable 
illustrative  notes.  Mr.  Clark  has  the  reputation  of  being  the 
best  Celtic  scholar  in  the  Highlands,  and  his  work  is  a  monument 
that  will  not  perish  as  long  as  men  care  to  study  at  the  fountain- 
head  a  poetry  which,  be  it  ever  so  faulty,  is  one  of  the  great 
literary  influences  of  the  world. 


342  THE    LAND   OF  LORNE. 

writinoi:,  and  having  their  outlines  determinatelj  fixed, 
these  songs  become  vested  in  a  multitude,  every 
reciter  having  more  or  less  to  do  to  them.  For 
centuries  the  floating  legendary  material  was  reshaped, 
added  to,  and  altered  l)y  the  changing  spirit  and  emo- 
tion of  the  Celt."  What  remains  to  us  is  a  set  of 
titanic  fragments,  which,  like  the  scattered  boulders 
and  hlocs  jperches  of  Glen  Sligachan,  show  where  a 
mighty  antique  landscape  once  existed.  The  transla- 
tion of  Macpherson,  made  as  it  was  by  a  scholar  famil- 
iar with  modern  literature,  has  numberless  touches 
showing  that  the  chisel  has  been  used  to  polish  the 
original  granite,  but  it  is  on  the  whole  a  marvelous  bit 
of  workmanship,  strong,  free,  subtle,  full  of  genius — 
better  than  any  English  translation  of  the  Iliad, 
nearer  to  the  true  antique  than  Chapman's,  or  Pope's, 
or  Derby's,  or  Blackie's  versions  of  the  Greek.  In 
this  translation,  retranslated,  Goethe  read  it,  and 
Napoleon ;  and  each  stole  something  from  it,  if  only 
a  phrase.  Veritably,  at  first  sight,  it  lias  a  barbarous 
look.  The  prose  breathes  heavily,  in  a  series  of  gasps, 
each  gasp  a  sentence.  Tlie  sound  is  to  a  degree 
monotonous,  like  the  voice  of  the  wind  ;  it  rises  and 
falls,  that  is  all,  breaks  occasionally  into  a  shriek,  dies 
sometimes  into  a  sob ;  but  it  is  always  a  wind-like  voice. 
Yet,  just  as  hour  after  hour  we  have  sat  by  the  fireside 
hearkening  to  the  wind  itself,  feeling  the  sadness  of 
IlTaturc  creep  into  the  soul  and  subdue  it,  so  have  we 
sat  listening  to  the  sad  "  sound  of  the  voice  of  Cona." 
It  is  a  wind,  a  wind  passing  among  mountains.  Only 
a  sound,  yet  the  soul  follows  it  out  into  the  darkness — 
where  it  blows  the  beard  from  the  thistle  on  the  ruin, 


GLEN   SLIGACHAN   AND   THE   CUCHULLINS.  343 

wliere  it  inists  the  pictures  in  the  moonlight  mere, 
where  it  meets  the  shadows  shivering  in  the  desolate 
cony,  where  it  dies  away  with  a  divine  whisper  on  the 
fringe  of  the  mystic  sea.  A  wind  only,  but  a  voice 
ciying,  "  I  have  seen  the  walls  of  Balcutha,  but  they 
were  desolate.  The  fire  had  resounded  in  the  halls, 
and  the  voice  of  the  people  is  heard  no  more.  The 
stream  of  Clutha  was  removed  from  its  place  by  the 
fall  of  the  walls.  The  thistle  shook  there  its  lonely 
head ;  the  moss  whistled  to  the  wind.  The  fox  looked 
out  from  the  windows ;  the  rank  grass  of  the  wall 
waved  round  his  head."  It  is  an  eerie  wail  out  of 
the  solitude.  We  are  blown  hither  and  thither  on  it, 
through  the  mists  of  Morven,  over  the  livid  Cuchul- 
lins,  through  the  terror  of  tempest,  the  dewy  dimness 
of  dawn — where  the  heroes  are  fighting,  where  a 
thousand  shields  clang — where  rises  the  smoke  of  the 
ruined  home,  the  moan  of  the  desolate  children — 
where  the  dead  bleed,  and  "the  hawks  of  heaven 
come  from  all  their  winds  to  feed  on  the  foes  of 
Auner" — where  the  sea  rolls  far  distant,  and  the 
white  foam  is  like  the  sails  of  ships — where  the 
narrow  house  looks  pleasant  in  the  waste,  and  "  the 
gray  stone  of  the  dead."  But  ever  and  anon  we 
pause,  listening,  and  know  that  we  are  hearkening  to 
a  sound  only,  to  the  lonely  cry  of  the  wind. 

After  all,  it  is  unfair  to  call  this  monotonousness  a 
demerit.  Ossian's  poems  have  much  more  in  common 
with  the  Theogony  than  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey. 
Ulysses  and  Thersites  were  comparatively  modern 
products  of  the  Greek  Epos.  In  the  Ossianic  period 
humanity  dwelt  in  the  twilight  which  precedes  the 


344  THE   LAND   OF   LOENE. 

dawn  of  culture.  The  heroes  are  not  only  colossal, 
but  shadowy — dim  iu  a  dim  light — figures  vaguer 
than  any  in  the  Eddas ;  you  see  the  gleam  of  their 
eyes,  the  flash  of  their  swords,  you  hear  the  solemn 
sound  of  their  voices;  hut  they  never  laugh,  and  if 
they  uplift  a  festal  cup,  it  is  with  solemn  armswecp 
and  hushed  speech.  The  landscape  where  they  move 
is  this  landsca2)e  of  Glen  Sligachan,  with  a  frequent 
glimpse  of  woodier  Morven,  and  a  far-off  glimmer  of 
the  Western  Sea  ;  all  this  shadowy,  for  the  "  morning 
is  gray  on  Cromla,"  or  the  "  pale  light  of  the  night  is 
sad."  "  I  sit  hy  the  mossy  fountain ;  on  the  top  of 
the  hill  of  "^vind.  One  tree  is  rustling  above  me. 
Dark  waves  roll  over  the  heath.  The  lake  is  troubled 
below.  The  deer  descend  from  tlie  hill.  It  is  mid- 
day, but  all  is  silent."  This  is  a  day  picture,  but 
there  is  little  sunlight.  It  is  in  this  atmosphere  that 
some  readers  expect  variety.  They  weary  of  the 
wind,  and  the  gray  stone  on  the  waste,  and  the 
shadows  of  heroes.  "  Oh  for  one  gleam  of  humor,  of 
the  quick  spirit  of  life !  "  they  cry.  As  well  might 
they  look  for  Falstaff  in  the  Iliad,  or  for  Browning's 
Broad  Church  Pope  in  Shakespeare !  Blaven  and 
his  brethren  are  not  mirth-breeding ;  nor  is  Ossian. 
Here  in  the  waste,  and  there  in  the  book,  humanity 
fades  far  off;  though  coming  from  both,  we  drink 
with  fresher  breath  the  strong  salt  air  of  the  free 
waves  of  the  world. 

In  these  days  of  metre-mongers,  in  these  days  when 
poetry  is  a  tinkling  cymbal  or  a  pretty  picture,  when 
Art  has  got  hold  of  her  sister  Muse  and  bedaubed 
her  with  unnatural  color,  we  might  well  expect  the 


GLEN   SLIGACHAN   AND   THE   CUCnULLINS.  345 

piiWic  to  be  indifferent  to  Ossian.  Not  the  least 
objection  to  tlie  Gael,  in  the  eyes  of  library-readers,  is 
tlie  peculiar  gasping  prose  in  which  the  translation  is 
written ;  and  it  is  an  objection ;  yet  it  affords  scope 
for  passages  of  wonderful  melody,  just  as  does  the 
prose  of  Plato,  or  of  Shakespeare,*  or  the  semi-Biblical 
line  of  Walt  Whitman.  "  Before  the  left  side  of  the 
car  is  seen  the  snorting  horse!  The  thin-maned, 
high-headed,  strong-hoofed,  fleet-bomiding  son  of  the 
hill ;  his  name  is  Dusronnal,  among  the  stormy  sons 
of  the  sword."  Such  a  passage  is  prose  as  fully 
acceptable  as  a  more  literal  translation,  broken  up 
into  lines  like  the  original : 

"  By  the  other  side  of  the  chariot 
Is  the  arch-neck'd,  snorting, 
Narrow-maued,  high-mettled,  strong-hoofed. 
Swift-footed,  wide-nostril ed  steed  of  the  mountains; 
Dusrongeal  is  the  name  of  the  horse." 

Music  in  our  own  day  having  run  to  tune,  in  poetry 
as  in  everything  else,  we  eschew  unrhymed  metres 
and  poetical  prose ;  yet  it  is  as  legitimate  to  call 
Beethoven  a  barbarian  as  to  abuse  Ossian  and  Whit- 
man for  their  want  of  melody.  And  as  to  the  charge 
that  Ossian  lacks  humor ^  where  in  our  other  British 
poetry  is  humor  so  rife  that  we  imperatively  de- 
mand it  from  the  Gael.  Where  is  Milton's  humor? 
/or  Shelley's  ?  Where  in  contemporary  poetry  is  there 
a  grain  of  the  divine  salt  of  life,  such  as  makes 
Chaucer  prince  of    tale-tellers,   and    gladdens    the 

*  Take  Hamlet's  speech  about  himself  (commencing, "  I  have 
of  late,  but  wherefore  I  know  not,"  etc.)  as  an  example  of  what 
Coleridge  calls  "  the  wonderfulness  of  prose." 
15* 


346  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

academic  period  of  rare  Ben,  and  makes  Falstaff 
lovable,  and  Bardolpli's  red  nose  delicious,  and  pre- 
serves the  sloveulj-scribbled  "  Beggar's  Opera  "  for  all 
time.  In  sober  truth,  humor  and  worldly  wisdom, 
and  all  we  hlase  moderns  mean  by  variety,  were 
scarcely  created  in  the  Ossianic  period.  Why,  they 
are  rare  enough  in  tlie  lonely  Hebrides  even  now, 
I^ow,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  the  Celtic  islander 
smiles  as  little  as  old  Fingal  or  Cuchullin.  Ilis 
laugh  is  grim  and  deep  ;  he  is  too  far  back  in  time 
to  laugh  lovingly.  His  loving  mood  is  earnest,  tear- 
ful, almost  painful,  sometimes  full  of  a  dim  bright- 
ness, but  never  exuberant  and  joyful. 

Yet  we  moderns,  who  love  hoary  old  Jack  for  his 
sins,  and  stand  tearfully  at  his  bed  of  death,*  and  like 
all  fat  men  and  sinners  better  for  his  sake,  we  to 
whom  life  is  the  quaintest  and  drollest  of  all  plays,  as 
well  as  the  deepest  and  divinest  of  all  mysteries,  may 
listen  very  profitably,  ever  and  anon,  to  the  monoto- 

*  "  Ilost.  Nay,  sure,  he's  not  in  hell ;  he's  in  Arthur's  bosom, 
if  ever  man  went  to  Arthur's  bosom.  'A  made  a  finer  end,  and 
went  away,  an  it  had  been  any  christom  child ;  'a  parted  even 
just  between  twelve  and  one,  e'en  at  turning  o' tlie  tide ;  for 
after  I  saw  him  fumble  with  the  sheets,  and  play  with  the  flowers, 
and  smile  upon  his  fingers'  ends,  I  knew  there  was  but  one  way  ; 
for  his  nose  was  as  sharp  as  a  pen,  and  'a  babbled  of  green  fields. 
'  IIow  now.  Sir  John  V  quoth  I ;  '  what,  man  !  be  of  good  cheer.' 
So  'a  cried  out '  God,  God,  God  ! '  three  or  four  times  ;  now  I,  to 
comfort  him,  bid  liim  'a  should  not  think  of  God  ;  I  hoped  there 
was  no  need  to  trouble  himself  with  any  such  thoughts  yer.  So, 
'a  bade  me  lay  more  clothes  on  his  feet.  I  put  my  hand  into  the 
bed,  and  felt  them,  and  they  were  as  cold  as  any  stone ;  then  1  felt 
to  his  knees,  and  so  upward  and  upward,  and  all  was  as  cold  as 
any  stone." — llcnry  F.,  ii.  3. 


GLEN  SLIGACHAN  AND  THE  CUCnULLINS.  347 

noiis  wail  of  Cona,  may  pass  a  brooding  liour  in  tlie 
twiliglit  shadow  of  tliis  eerie  poetry.  The  influence 
of  Ossian  upon  us  is  quite  specific;  not  religious 
at  all,  not  merely  ghostly,  but  solemn  and  sad  and 
beautiful ;  with  just  enough  life  to  preserve  a  thread 
of  human  interest ;  with  too  little  life  to  awaken  us 
from  the  mood  of  bi'ooding,  mystic  feeling  produced 
by  the  lonely  landscape,  and  the  dim  dawn,  and  the 
changeful  moon.  Ossian  dreams  not  of  a  Supreme 
Being,  has  no  religious  feeling,  but  he  believes  in 
gracious  spirits  "fair  as  the  ghost  of  the  hill,  when 
it  moves  in  a  sunbeam  at  noon,  over  the  silence  of 
Morven."  If  there  is  no  humor  in  his  poems,  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  exquisitely  human  tenderness. 
Kothing  can  be  more  touching  in  its  way  than 
the  death  of  Fellan:  "  Ossian,  lay  me  in  that  hollow 
rock.  Raise  no  stone  above  me,  lest  one  should 
ask  about  my  fame.  I  am  fallen  in  the  first  of  my 
fields,  fallen  without  renown."  Perfect  in  its  way, 
too,  is  the  imagery  in  the  lament  of  Malvina  over  the 
death  of  Oscar :  "  I  was  a  lovely  tree  in  thy  pres- 
ence, Oscar !  with  all  my  branches  round  me.  But 
thy  breath  came  like  a  blast  from  the  desert  and 
laid  my  green  head  low.  The  spring  returned  with 
its  showers,  but  no  leaf  of  mine  arose." 

Sweetest  and  tenderest  of  all  Ossian's  songs,  the 
song  which  fills  the  soul  here  in  the  gorges  of  Glen 
Sligachan,  is  "  BeiTathon,"  the  ''  last  sound  of  the 
voice  of  Cona."  It  is  a  wind  indeed,  strange  and  ten- 
der, deep  and  true.  All  the  strife  is  hushed  now ; 
Malvina  the  beautiful  is  dead,  and  the  old  bard,  know- 
ing that  his  hour  is  di'awing  nigh,  mm-murs  over  a 


348  THE  LAND  OF   LOENE. 

fair  legend  of  the  past.  "  Such  were  my  deeds,  son 
of  Appin,  wlien  the  arm  of  my  youth  was  young. 
But  I  am  alone  at  Lutha.  My  voice  is  like  the  last 
sound  of  the  wind,  when  it  forsakes  the  woods.  But 
Ossian  shall  not  be  long  alone ;  he  sees  the  mist  that 
shall  receive  his  ghost ;  he  beholds  the  mist  that  shall 
form  his  robe  when  he  appears  on  his  hills.  The  sons 
of  feeble  men  shall  behold  me  and  admire  the  stature 
of  the  chiefs  of  old.  They  shall  creep  to  their  caves. 
.  .  .  Lead,  son  of  Appin,  lead  the  aged  to  his  woods. 
The  wind  begins  to  rise  ;  the  dark  wave  resounds.  .  .  . 
Bring  me  the  hai-p,  son  of  Appin.  Another  song  shall 
arise.  My  soul  shall  depart  in  the  sound.  .  .  .  Bear 
the  mournful  sound  away  to  Fingal's  airy  hall ;  bear 
it  to  Fingal's  hall,  that  he  may  hear  the  voice  of  his 
son.  .  .  .  The  blast  of  the  north  opens  thy  gates.  O 
king !  I  behold  thee  sitting  on  mist,  dimly  gleaming 
in  all  thine  arms.  Thy  foi-m  now  is  not  the  terror  of 
the  valiant.  It  is  like  a  watery  cloud,  when  we  see 
the  stars  behind  it  with  their  weeping  eyes.  Thy 
shield  is  the  aged  moon  ;  thy  sword  a  vapor  half  kin- 
dled with  fire.  Dim  and  feeble  is  the  chief  who  trav- 
eled in  brio;htness  before.  ...  I  hear  the  voice  of  Fin- 
gal.  Long  has  it  been  absent  from  mine  ear !  '  Come, 
Ossian,  come  away  1 '  he  says.  ...  *  Come,  Ossian, 
come  away  ! '  he  says.  '  Come,  fly  with  thy  fathers 
on  clouds.'  I  come,  I  come,  thou  king  of  men.  The 
life  of  Ossian  fails.  I  begin  to  vanish  on  Cona.  My 
steps  are  not  seen  in  Selma.  Beside  the  stone  of  Mora 
I  shall  fall  asleep.  The  winds  whistling  in  my  gray 
hair  shall  not  awaken  me.  .  .  .  Another  race  shall 
arise."    If  this  be  not  a  veritable  voice  then  poesy  is 


GLEN   SLIGACIIAN   AND   THE   CUCHULLINS.  349 

dumb  indeed.  The  desolate  cry  of  Lear  is  not  more 
real. 

liead  these  poems  to-day  on  Glen  Sligaclian,  or  on 
the  slopes  of  Elaven.  Is  not  the  solemn  grayncss 
everywhere  ?  Is  there  a  touch,  a  tint  of  the  quiet 
landscape  lost  ?  Not  that  Ossian  described  Nature  ; 
that  was  left  for  the  modem.  lie  contrives,  however, 
while  using  the  simplest  imagery,  while  never  pausing 
to  transcribe,  to  conjure  up  before  us  the  very  spirit  of 
such  scenes  as  this.  Mere  description,  however  pow- 
erful, is  of  little  avail ;  and  painting  is  not  much  bet- 
ter. Ossian's  versa  resembles  Loch  Corruisk  more 
closely  than  Turner's  picture,  powerful  and  suggestive 
as  that  picture  is. 

While  we  are  listening  to  the  thin  voice  of  Cona, 
and  being  betrayed  into  a  monologue,  our  exploring 
party  is  getting  well  ahead  ;  and  turning  off  across  a 
marshy  hollow  to  the  right,  guide  and  ponies  begin 
to  clamber  up  the  sides  of  a  hill — one  of  the  sandy 
Red  Hills,  the  shoulder  of  which  overlooks  the  lonely 
lake  of  which  we  are  in  quest.  The  dog  Schneider 
has  vanished  in  frantic  pursuit  of  some  imaginary 
game — no,  there  she  is,  dwarfed  to  the  size  of  a  mouse, 
creeping  along  a  seemingly  inaccessible  crag.  Shouts 
are  of  no  avail ;  they  only  make  the  hills  moan.  But 
look  !  what  is  that  little  group  far  above  her  ?  Deer, 
by  Jove ! — red  deer,  browsing,  actually  browsing,  in  a 
hollow  that  seems  as  stony  and  innocent  of  all  herb- 
age as  a  doorstep,  and  looking  in  their  unconcern 
about  the  size  of  sheep.  The  field-glass  brings  them 
aggravatingly  close,  and  a  noble  group  they  are — 
harts  as  well   as  hinds.     O  Hamish,  Ilamish  Shaw, 


360  THE   LAND   OF   LORNR. 

what  a  place  for  a  stalk !  A  stiff  walk  round  yonder 
shoulder,  half  a  mile  to  leeward  ;  a  covered  approach 
for  a  mile  behind  that  ridge  ;  then  a  creep  along  the 
dry  bed  of  a  torrent,  steadily,  oh,  how  steadily !  lest  a 
rattle  of  small  stones  should  spoil  all ;  then  a  crawl . 
on  one's  belly  to  the  great  boulder  to  leeward  of  them, 
and  theii^  Ilamish,  a  cool  pulse,  a  steady  aim,  and 
the  finest  set  of  antlers  there  !  To  look  on,  gunless, 
hopeless,  is  almost  more  than  flesh  and  blood  can  en- 
dure. Katural  scenery,  Ossian,  mysticism,  are  for- 
gotten in  a  moment.  Ah,  but  they  had  the  best  of 
it — those  old  heroes  of  the  chase,  those  seekers  of 
perilous  adventm'es  by  flood  and  field ;  and  Fingal 
stalked  his  stag  in  that  era  like  a  genuine  sportsman ! 
Come  alono;,  Hamish  Shaw :  let  us  turn  our  faces 
away,  lest  we  cry  with  longing.  See,  thgugh,  the 
dog  is  winding  them — she  sees — she  charges  them. 
They  stand  their  ground  coolly,  only  one  big  fellow 
begins  to  tickle  the  earth  with  his  antlers.  Schnei- 
der's pace  grows  slower  and  more  reflective.  She  ex- 
pected to  scatter  them  like  wind,  and  she  is  amazed 
at  their  stolidity.  Obviously  thinking  discretion  the 
better  part  of  valor,  she  pauses,  and  gazes  at  them 
from  a  distance  of  twenty  yards.  They  don't  stir, 
but  gaze  at  her  with  uplifted  lieads.  At  last,  tired  of 
the  scrutiny,  they  turn  slowly,  very  slowly,  and  walk, 
at  a  snail's  pace,  up  the  ravine  ;  while  Schneider,  ob- 
viously staggered  at  the  discovery  that  at  least  one 
kind  of  animal  is  quite  a  match  for  her,  and  won't 
scud  out  of  her  fiery  path  like  a  snipe  or  a  rabbit,  de- 
scends the  hill  dreamily — quite  prepared  to  accept 


GLEN  SLIGACHAN  AND  THE  CUCHULLINS.  351 

her  thrasliincj  in  exchange  for  the  half-hour's  novel 
Bport  that  she  has  had  among  the  mountains. 

How  steadily  the  ponies  make  their  way  up  this 
pathway,  which  is  sometimes  slippery  as  glass,  some- 
times crumbling  like  a  ruin  ;  they  keep  their  feet  witli 
only  an  occasional  stumble,  and  do  not  appear  the 
least  bit  exhausted  by  their  efforts.  Parts  of  the  way 
are  precipitous  to  a  degree,  part^  are  formed  by  the 
unstable  bed  of  a  shallow  burn.  At  last  the  topmost 
ridge  is  gained,  the  riders  dismount,  and  the  guide, 
stripping  the  ponies  of  their  saddles  and  bridles,  turns 
them  out  to  crop  a.  noontide  meal  on  the  mossy 
ground.  Lunch  is  thereupon  spread  out  on  a  rock, 
and  before  casting  one  glance  around  them,  the  Wan- 
derer and  the  other  human  machines  begin  to  feed 
and  drink,  winding  up  the  jaded  body  to  the  point  of 
rational  enjoyment  and  spiritual  perception. 

The  views  from  this  hillside — the  usual  point  sought 
by  tourists  from  Sligachan — are  inferior  in  beauty  to 
many  we  have  seen  en  route,  but  they  are  very  grand. 
One  glimpse,  indeed,  of  the  peaks  of  Scuir-na-Gillean, 
seen  peeping  jagged  over  an  intervening  chain  of 
mountain,  is  beyond  all  parallel  magnificent.  The 
view  of  Loch  Corruisk,*  for  which  the  tourists  come, 
is  simply  disappointing.  Only  one  corner  of  the  loch 
is  visible,  lying  below  at  a  distance  of  about  two 
miles,  and  gives  not  the  faintest  idea  of  its  grandem-. 
The  usual  plan  adopted  by  good  walkers  is  to  descend 
to  the  side  of  Corruisk,  leaving  the  guide  to  await 
their  return  on  the  summit  of  the ridoe. 


r>" 


*  Anglice,  tlie  "  Corry  of  tlie  Water.' 


S52  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

But  on  the  present  occasion,  the  "Wanderer  has  de- 
termined to  pass  the  summer  night  here  in  the  soli- 
tude, leaving  the  rest  of  the  party  to  return  alone — 
all   save  the  faithful  henchman,  Ilamish,  on  whose 
back  is  strapped  a  waterproof  sleeping-bag,  a  box  of» 
apparatus  for  cooking  breakfast,  etc.     Schneider,  too, 
will  remain,  constant  as  ever  to  her  liege  lord  and  mas- 
ter.    So,  after  a  parting  caulker  with  the  men,  and  a 
good-night's  kiss  from  the  lady,  the  Wanderer  whis- 
tles his  dog  and  plunges  down  the  hill  at  his  favorite 
headlong  rate,  while  Hamish,  more  heavily  loaded, 
follows  leisurely,  with   the  swinging  gait,  slow  but 
steady,  peculiar  to  mariners  of  all  sorts  on  land.     A 
very  short  run  brings  the  Wanderer  to  the  shores  of 
Lochan  Dhu,  a  dark  and  desolate  tarn,  situated  high 
up  on  the  hillside,  and  surrounded  by  wild  stretches 
of  marsh,  and  rock,  and  bog.     Standing  here  for  a 
moment,  he  waves  a  last  farewell  to  the  party  on  the 
peak,  who  stand  far  above  him,  darkly  silhouetted 
against  the  sky. 


CORRUISK;   Oil,  TliE  CORRY  OF  TllK  WATER.  353 


CIIArTER  XVI. 
coeruisk;  ok,  the  corrt  of  the  water. 

The  Lone  Water — The  Region  of  Twilight — Blocs  Perches— KamiBh 
Shaw's  Views— The  Cave  of  the  Ghost — The  Dunvegan  Pilot's  Story — 
Echoes,  Mists,  and  Shadows — Squalls  in  Loch  Scavaig — A  Highlander's 
Ideas  of  Beauty — Camping  Out  in  the  CoiTy — A  Stormy  Dawn — The 
Fishermen  and  the  Strange  Harbor — Loch  Scavaig — The  Spar  Cave — 
Camasunary. 

Out  of  the  gloomy  breast  of  Loelian  Dhii  issues  a 
brawling  burn,  which  plunges  from  shelf  to  shelf 
downward,  here  narrowing  to  a  rush-fringed  rapid, 
there  broadening  out  into  miniature  meres  that  glitter 
golden  in  the  sunlight  and  are  full  of  tiny  trout,  and 
in  more  than  one  place  overflowing  incontinently,  and 
breaking  up  into  rivulets  and  scattered  pools,  inter- 
spersed with  huge  boulders,  moss-grown  stones,  and 
clumps  of  vari-colored  heather.  With  the  burn  for 
his  guide,  the  Wanderer  sped,  more  than  once  miss- 
ing his  leaps  from  stone  to  stone,  and  cooling  his 
heated  legs  in  the  limpid  water,  and,  indeed,  rather 
courting  the  bath  than  otherwise,  so  pleasantly  the 
water  prattled  and  sparkled.  The  afternoon  was  well 
advanced  now,  and  still  not  a  cloud  came  to  destroy 
the  golden  glory  of  the  day.  The  sun  had  drunk  all 
the  dew  of  the  heather,  and  the  very  bogs  looked  dry 


854  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

and  brown.  Below  there  was  a  glimpse  of  tlicLonc 
Water,  glassy,  calm,  and  black  as  ebony.  A  few 
steps  downward,  still  downward,  and  the  golden  day 
was  dimming  into  shadow.  Coming  suddenly  on 
Loch  Corruisk,  the  Wanderer  seemed  in  a  moment 
surrounded  with  twilight,  lie  paused  close  to  the 
corry,  on  a  rocky  knoll,  with  the  hot  sun  in  his  eyes, 
but  before  him  the  shadows  lay  moveless — not  a 
glimmer  of  sunliglit  touched  the  solemn  mere — every- 
where the  place  brooded  in  its  own  mystery,  silent, 
beautiful,  and  dark. 

To  speak  in  the  first  place  by  the  card,  Corruisk, 
or  the  Cony  of  the  Water,  is  a  wild  gorge,  oval  in 
shape,  about  three  miles  long  and  a  mile  broad,  in 
the  center  of  which  a  sheet  of  water  stretches  for 
about  two  miles,  surrounded  on  every  side  by  rocky 
precipices  totally  without  vegetation,  and  towering  in 
one  sheer  plane  of  livid  rock,  until  they  mingle  with 
the  wildly  picturesque  and  jagged  outlines  of  the  top- 
most peak  of  the  Cuchulliiis.  Directly  on  entering 
its  somber  darkness,  the  student  is  inevitably  re- 
minded of  the  awful  region  of  Malebolge  : 

"  Luogo  e  in  Inferno  detto  Malebolge 
Tutto  di  pietra  e  di  color  ferrigno, 
Come  la  cercliia,  che  d'intorno  '1  volge."  , 

The  mere  is  black  as  jet,  its  waters  only  broken 
and  brightened  by  four  small,  grassy  islands,  on  the 
edges  of  the  largest  of  which  that  summer  day  the 
black-backed  gulls  were  sitting,  with  the  feathery 
gleam  of  their  shadows  faintly  breaking  the  glassy 
blackness  below  them.  These  islands  form  the  only 
bit  of  vegetable  green  in  all  the  lonely  prospect. 


CORRUISK ;   OR,  THE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         355 

Close  to  tlie  shores  of  the  loch,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
crag^s,  there  are  dark-brown  stretches  of  heath ;  hut 
the  heig'hts  above  them  are  leafless  as  the  columns  of 
a  cathedral. 

Coming  abruptly  on  the  shores  of  this  loneliest  of 
lakes,  the  Wanderer  had  passed  instantaneously  from 
sunlight  to  twilight,  from  brightness  to  mystery,  from 
the  gladsome  stir  of  the  day  to  a  silence  unbroken  by 
the  movement  of  any  created  thing.  Every  feature  of 
the  scene  was  familiar  to  him — he  had  seen  it  in  all 
weathers,  under  all  aspects — ^yet  his  spirit  was  pos- 
sessed as  completely,  as  awe-stricken,  as  solemnized, 
as  when  he  came  thither  out  of  the  world's  stir  for 
the  first  time.  The  brooding  desolation  is  there  for- 
ever. There  was  no  siijn  to  show  that  it  had  ever 
been  broken  by  a  human  foot  since  his  last  visit.  lie 
left  it  in  twilight,  and  in  twilight  he  found  it.  Since 
he  had  departed,  scarce  a  sunbeam  had  broken  the 
darkness  of  the  dead  mere  ;  so  close  do  the  mountain 
pinnacles  tower  on  all  sides,  that  only  when  the  sun 
is  sheer  above  can  the  twilight  be  broken  ;  and  when 
it  is  borne  in  mind  that  the  Cuchullins  are  the  chosen 
lairs  of  all  the  winds,  that  their  hollows  are  the  dark 
breeding-places  of  all  the  monsters  of  storm,  that 
scarce  a  day  passes  over  them  without  mist  and  tears, 
one  ceases  to  wonder  at  the  unbroken  darkness.  A 
great  cathedral  is  solemn ;  solemner  still  is  such  an 
island  as  Ilaskeir,  when  it  sleeps  silent  amid  the  rainy 
grief  of  a  dead  still  sea  ;  but  Corruisk  is  beyond  all  ex- 
pression solemnest  of  all.  Perpetual  twilight,  perfect 
silence,  terribly  brooding  desolation.  Though  there 
are  a   thousand  voices   on   all   sides— the  voices  of 


356  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

winds,  of  wild  waters,  of  sliifting  crags — tlie>y  die 
away  here  into  a  lieart-beat.  See !  down  tlie  torn 
checks  of  all  those  precipices  tear  headlong  torrents 
white  in  foam,  and  each  is  crying,  though  you  cannot 
hear  it.  Only  one  low  mnrmnr,  deeper  tha7i  silence, 
fills  the  dead  air.  The  black  water  laps  silently  on 
the  dark  claystone  shingle  of  the  shore.  The  cloud 
passes  silently,  ftir  away  over  the  melancholy  peaks. 

Streams  innumerable  come  from  all  directions  to 
pour  themselves  into  the  abyss ;  and  enormous  frag- 
ments of  stone  lie  everywhere,  as  if  freshly  fallen 
from  the  precipices,  while  many  of  these  gigantic 
boulders,  as  McCulloch  observes,  are  "ftoised  in  such 
a  manner  on  the  very  edges  of  the  precipitous  rocks 
on  which  they  have  fallen,  as  to  render  it  difficult  to 
imagine  how  they  could  have  rested  in  such  places, 
though  the  presence  of  snow  at  the  time  of  their  fall 
may  perhaps  explain  this  difficulty."  These,  indeed, 
are  the  true  Uocs  perches,  marking  the  course  of  the 
glacier  which  once  invaded  those  wilds.  "  The  inter- 
val between  the  borders  of  the  lake  and  the  side  of 
Garsven  is  strewed  with  them  ;  the  whole,  of  what- 
ever size,  lying  on  the  surface  in  a  state  of  uniform 
freshness  and  integrity,  unattended  by  a  single  plant 
or  atom  of  soil,  as  if  they  had  all  but  recently  fallen 
in  a  single  shower."  The  mode  in  which  they  lie  is 
no  less  remarkable.  The  bottom  of  the  valley  is  cov- 
ered with  rocky  eminences,  of  Avhich  the  summits  are 
not  only  bare,  but  often  very  narrow,  while  their  de- 
clivities are  always  steep,  and  often  perpendicular. 
Upon  these  rocks  the  fragments  lie  just  as  on  the  more 
level  ground.     One,   weighing   about   one   hundred 


CORRUISK;    OR,  THE  CrRRY  OF  THE  WATER.         35^ 

tons,*  has  become  a  rocking  stone  ;  another,  of  not  less 
than  fifty,  stands  on  the  narrow  edge  of  a  rock  a  hun- 
dred feet  higher  than  that  ground  which  must  have 
fii'st  met  it  in  the  descent. 

"  Mighty  rocks. 
Which  liave  from  unimaginable  years 
Sastaiuod  themselves  with  terror  and  with  toil 
Over  a  gulf,  and  with  the  agony 
Witli  which  they  cling  seem  slowly  coming  down — 
Even  as  a  wretched  soul  hour  after  hour 
Clings  to  the  mass  of  life — yet,  clinging,  lean ; 
And,  leaning,  make  more  dark  the  dread  abyss 
In  which  they  fear  to  fall."  * 

Strangely  beautiful  as  is  the  scene,  it  is  a  ruin. 
The  vast  fragments  are  the  remains  of  a  mao;nificent 
temple  rising  into  pinnacles  and  minarets  of  ice,  glit- 
tering with  all  the  colors  of  the  prism.  Here  the  si- 
lent-footed glacier  slipped,  and  the  snow  shifted  under 
the  footsteps  of  the  wind,  and  there,  perhaps,  where 
the  lonely  lake  lies,  glittered  a  cold  sheet  of  hyacin- 
thine  blue ;  and  no  gray  rain-cloud  brooded  on  the 
temple's  dome — only  dL4icate  spirits  of  the  vapor, 
di'inking  soft  radiance  from  the  light  of  sun  and  star. 
Around  this  temple  crawled  the  elk  and  bear,  and 
swift-footed  mountain  deer.  Summer  after  summer  it 
abode  in  beauty,  not  stable  like  temples  built  by  hands, 
but  ever  changing,  full  of  the  low  murmur  of  its 
change,  the  melancholy  sound  of  its  own  shifting 
walls  and  domes.  Then  more  than  once  Fire  swept 
out  of  the  abyss,  and  clung  like  a  snake  about  the 
temple,  while  Earthquake,  like  a  chained  monster, 
groaned  below ;    wild  elements   came  from   all  the 

*  Shelley's  "  Cenci." 


358  TEE   LAND   OF   LOllNE. 

winds  to  overthrow  it ;  wall  after  wall  fell,  fragment 
after  fragment  daslie^  down.  The  fairy  fretwork  of 
snow  melted,  the  fair  carvings  of  ice  were  obliterated, 
jiinnacle  and  minaret  dissolved  in  the  sun,  like  the 
baseless  fragment  of  a  vision.  Dark  twilight  settled 
on  the  ruin,  and  Melancholy  marked  it  for  her  own. 
The  walls  of  livid  rock  remain,  gray  from  the  volcano, 
and  torn  into  rugged  rents,  casting  perpetual  darkness 
downward,  where  the  water,  bubbling  up  from  unseen 
abysses,  has  spread  itself  into  a  mirror.  All  ruins  are 
sad,  but  this  is  sad  utterly.  All  ruins  are  beautiful, 
but  this  is  beautiful  beyond  expression.  The  solemn 
S^^irit  of  Death  comes  more  or  less  to  all  ruins,  when- 
ever the  meditative  mind  conjures  and  wishes ;  but 
here  it  abides,  at  once  overshadowing  whosoever 
apj^roaches  by  the  still  sense  of  doom.  "  Thus  saitli 
the  Lord  God,  Behold,  O  Mount  Seir,  I  am  against 
thee,  and  1  will  make  thee  most  desolate.  When  the 
whole  earth  rejoiceth,  I  will  make  thee  desolate."  The 
fiat  has  also  been  spoken  here.  The  place  has  been 
solemnized  to  desolation. 

In  deep,  unutterable  awe  does  the  human  visitant 
explore  with  timid  eye  the  mighty  crags  above  him, 
the  layers  of  volcanic  stone,  until  he  finds  himself 
fascinated  by  the  strange  outlines  of  the  peaks  where 
they  touch  the  sky,  and  detecting  fancied  resemblances 
to  things  that  live.  Yonder  crouches,  black  and  dis- 
tinct against  the  light,  a  maned  beast,  like  a  lion, 
watching  ;  its  eyes  invisible,  but  fixed,  doubtless,  on 
yours.  Iliglier  still  is  a  dimmer  outline,  as  of  some 
huge  bird,  winged  like  the  griffin.  These  two  re- 
semblances infect  the  whole  scene  instantaneously. 


CORRUISK;  OR,  THE  CORRY  OP  THE  WATER.         359 

There  are  shapes  everywhere — in  the  peaks,  in  the 
gorges,  by  the  torrents — living  shapes,  or  phantoms, 
frozen  still  to  listen  or  to  watch,  and  horrifying  you 
with  their  deathly  silence.  Your  heart  leaps  as  if 
something  were  going  to  happen  ;  and  you  feel,  if  the 
stillness  were  suddenly  broken,  and  these  shapes  were 
to  spring  into  motion,  you  would  shriek  and  faint. 

How  dark  and  fathomless  look  the  abysses  yonder, 
at  the  head  of  the  loch  !  A  wild  scarf  of  mist  is  fold- 
ing itself  round  the  peaks  (betokening  surely  that  the 
clear,  still  weather  will  not  remain  much  longer  un- 
broken), and  faint,  gray  light  travels  along  the  wildly 
indented  wall  beneath.  It  is  not  two  miles  to  the 
base  of  the  crags,  yet  the  distance  seems  interminable ; 
and  shadows,  shifting  and  deepening,  weary  the  eye 
with  mysteries  and  dimly-reflected  vistas. 

As  one  paces  up  the  aisle  of  some  vast  temple,  the 
Wanderer  walked  thither,  threading  his  way  among 
gigantic  boulders,  which  in  some  wild  hour  have  been 
torn  loose  and  dashed  down  from  the  heiofhts.  He 
felt  dwarfed  to  the  utter  significance  of  a  pigmy,  small 
as  a  mouse  crawling  on  the  pavement  of  the  great 
cathedral  at  Cologne. 

A  voice  broke  in  upon  his  musings. 

"  I've  traveled  far,  and  seen  heaps  o'  places,"  says 
Hamish  Shaw,  whom  the  "Wanderer  had  altogether 
forgotten  ;  "  but  I  never  saw  the  like  of  this.  It's  no' 
a  canny  place.  Glen  Sannox  is  wild,  but  this  is  awe- 
some. Is  it  no'  strange  that  the  Lord  should  make  a 
place  like  this,  for  no  use  to  man  or  beast  ?  " 

This  was  a  question  -involving  so  many  philosoph- 
ical issues,  that  the  "Wanderer  did  not  like  to  make 


360  THE  LAND   OP   LOKNE. 

any  decided  answer.  Instead  of  replying,  lie  asked 
Hamisli  if  he  had  never  been  in  the  locality  before. 

"  Ay,  once,  years,  ago,  ween  I  was  but  a  lad.  The 
herring  were  in  Loch  Scavaig,  and  the  harbor  out  yon- 
der was  just  a  causeway  o'  fishing-boats,  and  there 
were  fires  on  shore,  and  plenty  o'  folk  to  make  it  look 
cheery  like.  We  were  here  a  week,  and  didna  see  a 
soul  ashore,  but  one  day  an  old  piper  coming  in  his 
Sabbath  claise  frae  a  wedding  far  o'er  the  hills,  and  he 
was  that  fu'  *  that  he  had  burstit  his  pipes,  and  lost 
his  bonnet ;  and,  with  his  gray  hair  blowing  in  his 
een,  he  looked  like  the  Deil.  We  keepit  him  a  nicht 
till  he  was  sober ;  and  when  he  waken'd  he  was  that 
mad  about  his  pipes,  that  he  was  for  loupingf  into 
the  sea.  I  mind  fine  o'  him  vanishing  up  the  hills 
yonder,  as  white  as  death  ;  and  Lord  kens  if  he  ever 
reached  hame,  for  it  rained  that  night  like  to  drown 
the  world,  and  you  couldna  see  the  length  o'  your  arm 
for  reek,"  ij: 

As  he  walked  on  in  the  track  of  the  Wanderer, 
Shaw  still  pursued  liis  own  reminiscences  aloud. 

"For  a'  that  tliere  wasna  a  fisherman  would  liae 
willingly  come  this  length  alane — -they  were  that  fear'd 
o'  the  place,  most  o'  a'  in  the  gloaming.  It's  more 
fearsome  without  a  house,  or  folk,  or  sae  much  as  a 
sheep  feeding ;  nothing  but  stanes  and  darkness. 
There  were  auld  men  among  us  that  had  strange  tales 
and  liked  to  fright  the  lads,  though  they  were  just 
as  frightit  themsel's.  There's  a  cave  up  there  called 
the  Cave  o'  the  Ghost,  and  the  taiscli§  o'  a  shepherd 

*  Drunk.  f  Jumping,  I  Mist. 

§  Spirit, 


CORRUISK ;   OR,  THE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         361 

lias  been  seen  in  it  sitting  cross-leggit,  and  branding 
a  bluidy  sheep.  But  the  drollest  thing  e'er  I  heard 
o'  Loch  Corruisk  was  frae  an  auld  pilot  o'  Dun  vegan, 
whose  folk  had  dwelt  yonder  on  the  far  side  o'  Gars- 
ven.  lie  minded  fine,  when  he  was  a  wean,  his 
grandfather  would  gang  awa'  for  days,  and  come  back 
wi'  his  pouch  full  o'  precious  stanes  the  size  o'  seeds 
and  the  color  o'  blood.  lie  would  tell  nae  man  how 
or  where  he  found  them ;  and  though  they  tried  to 
watch  him,  he  was  o'er  cunning.  More  than  once  he 
came  back  wi'  gold.  He  sent  the  gold  and  stanes 
south,  and  was  weel  paid  for  them.  It  was  whispered 
about  that  he  had  sold  himseP  to  the  Deil,  at  night, 
here  by  the  loch  ;  and  he  didna  deny  it.  He  came 
back  one  day  sick,  and  took  to  his  bed  wi'  the  influ- 
enza fever ;  and  he  ravit  till  the  priest  came,  and 
before  he  dee'd  he  cried  till  the  priest  that  the  gold 
and  stanes  had  changed  his  heart  wi'  greed,  and  he 
was  feared  to  face  his  God.  One  day  he  had  wan- 
dered himsel',  *  and  night  came  on  him,  and  he  creepit 
into  a  cave  to  sleep  ;  and  when  the  day  came,  he  saw 
strange  marks  like  writing  all  o'er  the  walls.  When 
he  keekit  closer,  he  saw  the  stanes,  and  they  were 
that  loose  he  could  free  them  wi'  his  gully,f  and  he 
tilled  his  pouches,  shaking  a'  the  time  wi'  fear.  But 
the  strangest  thing  o'  a'  was  this — he  wasna  the  first 
man  that  had  been  there,  for  at  the  mouth  o'  the  cave 
there  was  the  coulter  o'  a  plow,  and  twa  old  brogues 
rotten  wi'  dirt  and  rain." 

"  Did  this  description  enable  his  relations  to  find 
the  place  ? "  asked  the  Wanderer,  much  interested. 

*  Lost  his  patli.  f  Claspknife. 

16 


862  THE   LAND   or   LORNE. 

"  Tliej  searcli'd  and  searcli'd,"  answered  Hamish, 
"but  they  coiildna  found  it,  and  they  gave  it  up  in 
despair.  After  that  his  folk  didna  thrive ;  and  the 
man  that  told  me  the  tale  was  the  only  ane  o'  them 
left.  I've  heard  tell  that  'twas  true  the  old  man  had 
sold  himsel'  to  the  Deil,  and  that  the  cave,  and  the 
strange  writing,  and  a' that,  were  just  magic  to  beguile 
his  een  ;  but  it's  strange.  I'm  o'  the  opinion  that  the 
cave  might  be  found  yet,  for  gold  and  stanes  couldna 
come  o'  naething.  If  it  hadna  been  for  the  auld  man's 
greed,  his  folk  might  hae  thriven." 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  have  kept  the  secret  if 
you  had  been  in  his  place  ?  " 

"  I'm  no'  sae  sure,"  answered  Hamish,  after  a  pause. 
"  Ye  see,  'twas  a  sair  temptation,  for  a  man's  ain  folk 
are  whiles  the  hardest  against  him  aboot  siller.  It 
was  the  safest  way,  but  a  bad  way  for  ither  folk.  He 
should  hae  put  the  marks  o'  the  place  in  ^vriting,  for 
use  after  his  death." 

Hamish's  story,  with  its  quaint  touches  of  realism, 
only  made  the  lonely  scene  more  lone,  adding  as  it 
did  a  touch  of  human  eerieness  to  the  associations 
connected  with  it.  An  appropriate  abode,  surely,  for 
one  of  those  evil  spirits  of  whom  we  read  in  Teutonic 
romance,  and  who  were  prepared,  in  exchange  for  a 
little  document  signed  with  the  party's  blood,  to  load 
the  lost  mortal  with  gems  and  gold!  This  was  a 
fleeting  imprcssicn,  only  lasting  a  moment.  Another 
glance  at  those  dimly-lighted  walls,  that  darkly-brood- 
ing water,  those  sublime  peaks,  now  begiiming  to  dis- 
appear in  the  fast-gathering  white  vapor — one  more 
look  around  the  lonely  corry — served  to  show  that  it 


CORRUISK ;   OR.  THE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         363 

was  too  silent,  too  ethereally  thoughtful,  to  be  haunted 
by  such  vulgar  spirits  as  those  that  figure  in  popular 
superstition.  The  popular  ghost  would  be  as  out  of 
place  there  as  inside  a  church.  To  break  for  a  moment 
the  dead  monotony,  the  Wanderer  cast  a  stone  into 
the  water,  and  Schneider,  barking  furiously,  plunged 
into  the  water.  Hark  !  a  thousand  voices  barked  an 
answer !  We  shouted  aloud,  and  the  hills  reverber- 
ated. The  cries  of  men  and  the  barking  of  dogs  faded 
far  off,  like  the  ghostly  voices  of  the  Wild  Huntsmen 
among  the  Harz  Mountains.    Echo  cried  to  echo ; 

"  As  multitudinous  a  harmony 
Of  sounds  as  rang  the  heights  of  Latmos  over. 
When,  from  the  soft  couch  of  her  sleeping  lover 
Upstarting,  Cynthia  skimmed  the  mountain  dew 
In  keen  pursuit,  and  gave  where'er  she  flew 
Impetuous  motion  to  the  stars  above  her  ! " 

Truly,  there  were  spirits  among  the  peaks,  but  not 
such  spirits  as  Defoe  chronicled,  and  the  Poughkeepsie 
Seer  summons  ;  nay,  gentle  ghosts,  "  with  eyes  as  fair 
as  starbeams  among  twilight  trees ; "  phantoms  of  the 
delicate  ether,  not  arrayed  in  vulgar  horrors,  but  soft 
as  the  breath  of  Cytherea. 

"  Mountain  winds,  and  babbling  springs, 
•  And  mountain  seas  that  are  the  voice 

Of  these  inexplicable  things  !  " 

The  home  of  mystery  is  far  removed  from  that  of  ter- 
ror, and  he  who  approaches  it,  as  we  did  then,  is  held 
by  the  tenderest  fibers  of  his  soul,  instead  of  being 
galvanized  into  gaping  abjection.  God's  profoundest 
agents  are  as  tender  as  they  are  powerful.  Their 
breath,  invisible  as  the  wind,  troubles  the  fount  of 
divine  tears  which   distills  itself,   drop  by  drop,  in 


304  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

every  human   thing,  however  strong,  however  dark 
and  cold. 

We  were  now  at  the  head  of  the  loch.  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  in  the  notes  of  his  visit  to  Skye,  describes  the 
Cuchullins  as  rising  "  so  perpendicularly  from  the 
water's  edge  that  Borrowdale,  or  even  Glencoe,  is  a 
jest  to  them ;  "  but  Sir  AValter  only  surveyed  the 
scene  from  the  far  end  of  the  corry,  where  it  opens  on 
the  sea.*     So  far  from  rising  perpendicular  from  the 

*  Sir  Walter's  prose  account  of  his  visit  to  Corruisk  is  so  inter- 
esting that  we  subjoin  it  in  full :  "  The  ground  on  which  we 
walked  was  the  margin  of  a  lake,  which  seemed  to  have  sustained 
the  constant  ravage  of  torrents  from  these  rude  neighbors.     The 
shores  consisted  of  huge  strata  of  naked  granite,  here  and  there 
intermixed  with  bogs,  and  heaps  of  gravel  and  sand  piled  in  the 
empty  water-courses.     Vegetation  there  was  little  or  none  ;  and 
the  mountains  rose  so  perpendicularly  from  the  water  edge  that 
Borrowdale,  or  even  Glencoe,  is  a  jest  to  them.     We  proceeded  a 
mile  and  a  half  up  this  deep,  dark,  and  solitary  lake,  which  was 
about  two  miles  long,  half  a  mile  broad,  and  is,  as  we  learned, 
of    extreme   depth.     The    murky   vapors   which  enveloped  the 
mountain  ridges  obliged  us  by  assuming  a  thousand  varied  shapes, 
changing  their  drapery  into  all  sorts  of  fcrms,  and  sometimes 
clearing   off  altogether.     It  is  true,  the  mist  made  us   pay  the 
penalty  by  some  heavy  and  downriglit  showers,  from  the  fre- 
quency of  which  a  Highland   boy,  whom  we  brought  from  the 
farm,  told  us  the  lake  was   popularly  called  the  Water-kettle. 
The   proper  name  is  Loch  Corriskin,  from  the  deep  corrie,  of 
hollow,  in  the  mountains  of  Cuilin,  which  affords  the  basin  for 
this  wonderful  sheet  of  water.     It  is  as  exquisite  a  savage  scene 
as  Locli  Katrine  is  a  scene  of  romantic  beauty.     After  liaving 
penetrated  so  far  as  distinctly  to  observe  the  termination  of  the 
lake  under  an  immense  j)recipice,  which  rises  abruptly  from  the 
water,  Ave  returned,  and  often  stopped  to   admire  the   ravages 
which  storms  must  have  made  in  the  recesses,  where  all  human 
witnesses  were  driven  to  places  of  more  shelter  and  security. 
Stones,  or  rather  large  masses  and  fragments  of  rocks,  of  a  com- 


CORRUISK ;    OR,  THE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         365 

water's  edge,  the  mountains  slope  gradually  upward, 
from  stony  layer  to  layer,  and  at  their  l)ase  is  a  plain 
of  grass  as  green  as  emerald,  through  which  a  small 
river,  after  draining  the  silent  dews  of  the  hills,  wan- 
ders to  Corruisk.  Where  we  stood,  surrounded  by 
the  colossal  fragments  of  ruin,  on  the  rough  rock  of 
the  solid  liillside,  the  darkness  deepened,  Yapors 
were  gathering  above  ns,  shutting  out  the  hill-tops 
from  our  gaze.  Out  of  every  fissure  and  crevasse, 
from  behind  every  fragment  of  stone,  a  white  shape  of 
mist  stole,  small  or  huge,  and  hovered  like  a  living 

posite  kind,  perfectly  dififerent  from  the  strata  of  the  lake,  were 
scattered  upon  the  bare,  rocky  beach  in  the  strangest  and  most 
precarious  situations,  as  if  abandoned  by  the  torrents  which  had 
borne  them  down  from  above.  Some  lay  loose  and  tottering 
upon  the  ledges  of  the  natural  rock,  with  so  little  security 
that  the  slightest  push  moved  them,  though  their  weight  might 
exceed  many  tons.  These  detached  rocks,  or  stones,  were 
chiefly  what  are  called  plum-pudding  stones.  The  bare  rocks, 
which  formed  the  shore  of  the  lake,  seemed  quite  pathless  and 
inaccessible,  as  a  huge  mountain,  one  of  the  detached  ridges  of 
the  Ciiilin  hills,  sinks  in  a  profound  and  perpendicular  precipice 
down  to  the  water.  On  the  left-hand  side,  which  we  traversed, 
rose  a  higher  and  equally  inaccessible  mountain,  the  top  of  which 
strongly  resembled  the  shivered  crata  of  an  exhausted  volcano. 
I  never  saw  a  spot  in  which  there  was  less  appearance  of  vege- 
tation of  any  kind.  The  eye  rested  on  nothing  but  barren  and 
naked  crags,  and  the  rocks  on  which  we  walked  by  the  side 
of  the  loch  were  as  bare  as  the  pavements  of  Cheapside.  There 
are  one  or  two  small  islets  in  the  loch,  which  seem  to  bear 
j  uniper,  or  some  such  low,  bushy  shrub.  Upon  the  whole,  though 
I  have  seen  many  scenes  of  more  extensive  desolation,  I  never 
witnessed  any  in  which  it  pressed  me  more  deeply  upon  the  eye 
and  the  heart  than  at  Loch  Corriskiu  ;  at  the  same  time  that  its 
grandeur  elevated  and  redeemed  it  from  the  wild  and  dreary 
character  of  utter  barrenness." 


366  THE   LAND   OF   LOKNE. 

thing.  The  invisible  sun  was  now  declining  to  the 
west,  and  the  air  growing  chilly  after  the  great  heat 
of  the  day. 

It  was  time  now  to  seek  a  comer  wherein  we  might 
pass  the  night  in  tolerable  comfort.  This  was  soon 
done.  One  huge  stone  stretched  out  its  top  like  a  roof, 
the  rock  beneath  was  dry  and  snug,  and  close  at  hand 
a  little  stream  bubbled  by,  crystalline  and  cold. 
"  Spread  out  the  rugs,  Hamish  Shaw,  light  the  spirit- 
lamp,  and  make  all  snug."  It  was  as  cosy  as  by  the 
forecastle  fire.  Cold  beef  and  bread  went  down  glo- 
riously, with  cold  caulkers  from  the  spring ;  but  we 
wound  up,  if  you  please,  with  a  jorum  of  toddy  as 
stiif  as  head  could  stand.  Heat  the  water  over  the 
spirit-lamp,  drop  in  the  sugar,  and  you  have  a  bever- 
age fit  for  the  gods.  You,  Hamish,  take  yours  neat, 
and  you  are  wise.  Now,  having  lit  our  pipes,  and 
stretched  ourselves  out  for  a  siesta,  do  we  envy  the 
ease  of  any  wight  in  Christendom  ? 

"  The  nicht  will  be  a  good  nicht,"  said  Hamish ; 
"  but  I'm  thinking  there'll  be  wind  the  mom,*  and 
here,  when  it  blows  it  rains.  "When  I  was  here  wi' 
the  Ileathcrhell,  at  the  time  I  was  speaking  o',  I  dinna 
mind  o'  a  dry  day — a  day  without  showers.  I  ne'er 
saw  the  hills  as  clear  as  they  were  this  forenoon. 
There's  aye  wind  among  the  gullies  yonder,  and  the 
squalls  at  Sligachan  are  nacthing  to  what  ye  haehere. 
I  wouldna  sail  aboot  Scavaig  in  a  lug-sail  skiff— no' 
if  I  had  the  sheet  in  my  hand,  and  the  sail  nae 
bigger  than  a  clout — in  the  finest  day  in  summer.     It 

*  i.  e.,  To-morrow  morning. 


CORRUISK;    OR,  TIIE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         307 

strikes  down  on  ye  like  the  blows  o'  a  hammer — riglit, 
left,  ahint,  before,  straight  down  on  your  head,  riglit 
np  under  your  nose — coming  from  Lord  kens  where, 
though  the  sea  be  smooth  as  my  cheek.  I've  seen  the 
punt  heeling  o'er  to  the  gunnel  with  neither  mast  nor 
sail.  I  mind  o'  seeing  a  brig  carry  away  her  topmast, 
and  tear  her  foresail  like  a  rag,  on  a  day  when  we 
would  hae  been  carrying  just  a  reef  in  the  mainsail 
o'  the  Tern  /  and  I've  seen  the  day  when  the  fishing- 
boats  running  out  o'  the  wee  harbor  there  would  be  tak- 
ing their  sails  on  and  off,  as  the  puffs  came,  twenty 
times  in  as  many  minutes.  Many's  the  life's  been  lost 
off  Skye  wi'  the  damned  wind  frae  these  hills.  They're 
for  nae  good  to  the  beasts — the  very  deer  are  starved 
in  them — and  they  catch  every  mist  frae  the  Western 
Ocean,  and  soock  the  wind  out  o'  its  belly,  and  shoot 
it  out  again  on  Scavaig  like  a  cannon-ball.  Is  it  no' 
strange  there  should  be  such  places,  for  nae  use  to 
man  ?" 

"  They  are  very  beautiful  to  look  at,  Shaw,"  ob- 
served tlie  Wanderer,  "  you  can't  deny  that ;  and 
beautiful  things  have  a  use  of  their  own,  you  know. 
Look  up  there,  where  the  mists  are  dividing,  and 
burnmg  red  round  the  edges  of  that  peak,  and  tell  me 
if  you  ever  saw  anything  more  splendid." 

"  I'll  no'  deny,"  says  Shaw,  glancing  up  with  little 
enthusiasm,  "  I'U  no'  deny  that  it  looks  awesome ;  and 
it's  hard  for  a  common  man  like  me  to  tell  the  taste  o' 
learned  men  and  gentry.  They  gang  snooving  aboot, 
and  see  bonnieness  where  the  folk  o'  the  place  see 
naething  but  ugliness.  But  put  it  to  yoursel'.  Just 
supposing  you  had  a  twin  brother,  and  your  father 


368  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

had  left  your  brother  a  green  farm  o'  five  hundred 
acres,  and  gien  this  place  for  a  birthright  to  yoursel', 
what  would  ye  hae  said  then?  There's  no'  an 
acre  o'  green  gr«BS,  nor  a  tree  where  a  bird  might 
build,  nor  a  hanfu'  o'  earth  to  plow  or  harrow  !  Ye're 
smiling,  but  ye  wouldna  smile  if  ye  depended  on  this 
place  for  your  drop  o'  milk  and  bit  o'  porridge.  This 
may  be  awesome ;  but  green,  long  grass,  and  trees, 
and  the  kye  crying,  and  the  birds  singing,  and  the 
smell  o'  the  farm-yard  wherever  you  keek,  that's  the 
kind  o'  place  for  a  man  to  spend  his  days  in." 

And  here  let  us  remark  that  the  grim,  sunburnt, 
hirsute  Celt — our  philosophic  Ilamish,  as  independent 
as  Socrates  of  schools  and  dogmas — was  right  enough, 
with  all  his  bigotry.  Corruisk  is  well  at  times,  but  it 
lacks  the  greenness  of  the  true,  living  world — and  the 
intellectual  mood  it  awakens  is  a  purely  cultivated 
mood,  impossible  to  man  in  his  natural  state.  The 
English  gentleman,  arriving  from*  Kent  or  Sussex, 
Uase  with  English  flats,  surfeited  of  harvests,  comes 
to  such  a  scene  as  this  to  be  galvanized  ;  and  the  wild, 
weird  i^rospect,  the  utter  silence  and  desolation,  speak 
to  him  with  intensest  spiritual  power,  because  they 
are  so  unlike  the  monotonous  paths  he  treads  daily. 
The  Celt,  on  the  other  hand,  who  is  from  boyhood 
familiar  with  the  waste  wilderness,  tenanted  only  by 
the  deer  and  the  eagle,  and  with  the  enormous  sheep- 
farm,  stretching  from  hill  to  hill,  comes  upon  a  green 
spot,  where  leaves  sprout,  and  birds  sing,  and  flowers 
bud  at  the  tree-roots,  and  at  once  realizes  his  dreams 
of  earthly  loveliness.  Unlike  tlie  fair-weather  tourist, 
who  surveys  the  terrors  of  Nature  for  one  inspired 


COKRUISK;   OR,  THE  CORRY  OF  TIIE  WATER.         3G9 

moment,  the  Iliglilandcr  knows  the  meaning  of  storm, 
cold,  poverty,  and  hmiger  ;  and  when  he  pictures  an 
Inferno,  it  is  not  one  of  in8uiFeral)lo  flame,  but  rather 
Dante's  last  circle — a  frozen  realm.**  What  wonder, 
then,  that  such  a  man  should  find  all  the  dreamy 
poetry  of  his  nature  awakened  by  the  happy  home- 
stead bosomed  in  greenness,  the  waving  fields  of  ha;*- 
vest  hard  by,  the  pleasant  country  road,  with  plump 
farm-women  driving  their  pony-carts  to  market,  the 
stream  that  waters  the  meadow-land  and  turns  the 
mill — all  the  sights  and  sounds  that  indicate  warmth, 
prosperity  and  rural  joy.  The  basis  of  all  heavens  is 
physical  comfort,  and  the  Celt's  dream  of  heaven  is  a 
dream  of  the  light  and  the  sunshine  he  seldom  sees. 
"  The  valleys,"  says  an  old  Gaelic  chant,  "  were  open 
and  free  to  the  ocean  ;  trees  loaded  with  leaves,  which 
scarce  moved  to  the  light  breeze,  were  scattered  on 
the  green  slopes  and  rising  grounds.  The  rude  winds 
walked,  not  on  the  mountains;  no  storm  took  its 
course  through  the  sky.  All  was  calm  and  bright ; 
the  pure  sun  of  the  autumn  shone  from  its  blue  sky 
on  the  fields."  We  have  wandered  among  the  islands 
with  all  sorts  of  islanders,  and  ever  found  them  moved 
most,  like  Hamish  Shaw,  by  the  tender  oases  of  cul- 
tivated ground  which  are  found  here  and  there  in  the 
empty  waste. 

Let  it  not  be   imagined,  however,  that  the  wild 
scenery  of  the  hills  wherein  they  dwell,  the  fierce  con- 
tentions of  wind  and  rain  and  snow,  exercise  no  fas-  / 
cination;  they  work  subtly,  secretly,  weaving  theu' 

*  The  Celtic  Jfurin,  or  tlie  Isle  of  the  Cold  Clime. 
16* 


370  THE   LAND   OF   LORNE. 

Bolemn  tints  into  the  very  tissue  of  life  itself,  solemn- 
izing thought  imperceptibly,  troubling  the  spirit  with 
mysterious  emotion.  More  than  most  men  the  Celt 
distinguishes  between  loving  and  liking.  He  likes 
the  green  pasture ;  but  he  loves  the  bare  mountains. 
He  likes  warmth,  comfort,  and  prosperity;  but  he 
loves  loneliness,  dreaminess,  and  home.  So  familiar 
is  he  with  the  mountain  peak  and  the  driving  mist, 
so  constant  is  their  influence  upon  him,  that  he  scarce- 
ly perceives  them  ;  yet,  transport  him  to  flat  lowlands, 
or  into  cities,  and  he  pines  for  the  desolate  lake  and 
the  silent  hillside.  His  love  for  them  is  unutterable, 
is  the  vital  part  of  his  existence.  "When  he  dreams, 
he  sees  \hefata  morgana^  a  cloud  of  delicious  verdure 
suspended  in  the  air ;  but  it  soon  fades.  He,  like  all 
men,  yearns  to  the  unknown  and  the  unfamiliar ;  but 
such  yearnings  are  not  love. 

So  far  as  Hamish  himself  is  concerned,  what  most 
moves  him  is  the  sea.  It  is  his  true  home,  and  he 
loves  it  in  all  its  moods.  Days  and  nights,  months 
and  years,  it  has  rocked  him  on  its  bosom.  He  does 
not  watch  it  with  an  artist's  eye ;  but  no  artist  could 
linger  over  its  looks  more  lovingly.  It  is  no  mere 
monster,  repelling  him  like  the  somber  Cuchullins. 
No ;  the  mighty  sea  means  health  and  life — the  won- 
di'ous  shoals  of  herring  peopling  the  waters  like  lo- 
custs, the  cod  and  ling  hovering  like  shadows  on  the 
silent,  deej)  seabank — the  lobster  in  the  tangled  weed — 
all  strange  gifts  from  God,  full  of  "  use  to  man." 
He  has  a  finer  eye  for  the  beauty  of  a  boat  than  any 
artist  ever  drew.  He  knows  the  clouds  as  the  shep- 
herds know  their  sheep.      The  voices  of  seabirds  are 


CORRUISK;   OR,  THE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         371 

a  speecli  to  liim.     As  lie  looks  on  the  wondrous  wa- 
tery lields,  he  sees  in  them  both  a  harvest  and  a  grave. 
The  shadow  of  mystery  and  death  dwells  everywhere 
on  the  perilous  prospect.     And  if,  with  such  dreamy 
imaginations,  he  unconsciously  blends  the  same  quiet, 
utilitarian  feeling  which  the  farmer  has  for  his  fields, 
and  the  huntsman  for  the  prairie,  why,  perhaps  it  has 
only  strengthened  the  emotions  of  joy  he  feels  when- 
ever he  finds  himself  "  at  home  "  on  the  great  waters. 
After  all,  the  solemn  eerieness  of  the  corry  must 
have  been  appealing  more  or  less  subtly  to  Ilamish's 
spirit,  for  erelong  his  chat  drifted  into  the  old  chan- 
nel of  superstition ;  and  as  the  rosy  light  of  the  sun 
grew  dimmer  on  the  peaks,  and  the  hollow  void  black- 
ened below,  he  now  and  then  cast  around  him  glances 
of  troubled  meaning.     He  talked  again,  as  he  has 
often  talked  before,  of  the  Banshee,  and  the  Taisch 
or  second  sight,  and  of  witches  and  fays ;  not  commit- 
mg  himself  to  believe  in  their  existence,  but  assuredly 
not  quite  unbelieving.    While  Hamish  soliloquized  the 
Wanderer  watched  the  dying  sunlight,  and  dreamed 
— until  the  sound  of  his  comrade's  voice  died  awav 
into  an  inarticulate  murmur.     It  was  such  a  scene  as 
no  tongue  can  describe,  no  pencil  paint — the  hills  in 
their  silentest  hour,  hushed  like  lambs  around  the  feet 
of  God.     Not  of  wraiths,  or  corpse-lights,  or  any  petty 
<  spirits  that  fret  the  common  course  of  man,  did  the 
Wanderer  think  now ;  no  dark  vapors  of  the  brain 
interposed  to  perplex  him ;  but  his  soul  turned,  trem- 
bling like  a  star  with  its  own  lustrous  yearning,  to  the 
Eternal  Silences  where  broods  the  Almighty  Father 
of  the  beautiful  and  wondrous  world.     In  that  mo- 


372  THE   LAND   OF   LOENE. 

ment,  in  tliat  mood,  without  perfect  religious  confi- 
dence, yet  witli  some  faint  feeling  of  awful  communi- 
cation with  the  unseen  Intelligence,  did  he  find  his 
prayer  shaping  itself  into  sound  and  form — faint, 
perhaps,  as  imaging  what  he  felt,  yet  in  some  measure 
consecrated  for  other  ears  by  the  holy  spirit  of  the 
scene. 

I. 

Desolate  1    How  the  peaka  of  ashen  gray. 

The  smoky  mists  that  drift  from  hill  to  hill. 
The  waters  dark,  anticipate  this  day 

Death's  sullen  desolation.     Oh,  how  still 

The  shadows  come  and  vanish,  with  no  will  I 
How  still  the  melancholy  waters  lie  ; 
How  still  the  vapors  of  the  under  sky. 

Mirrored  below,  drift  onward,  and  fulfill 
The  mandate  as  they  mingle  !     Not  a  sound, 

Save  that  deep  murmur  of  a  torrent  near, 
Breaketh  the  silence.     Hush  !  the  dark  profound 

Groans,  as  some  gray  crag  loosens  and  falls  sheer 
To  the  abyss.     Wildly  I  look  around. 

O  Spirit  of  the  Human,  art  Thou  liere  t 

II. 

O  Thou  art  beautiful  !  and  Thou  dost  bestow 
Thy  beauty  on  this  stillness.     Still  as  sheep 
The  hills  lie  under  Thee  ;  the  waters  deep 

Murmur  for  joy  of  Thee  ;  the  voids  below 

Mirror  Thy  strange  fair  vapors  as  they  flow  ; 
And  now,  afar  upon  the  ashen  height. 
Thou  sendest  down  a  radiant  look  of  light. 

So  that  the  still  peaks  glisten,  and  a  glow, 

Rose-colored,  tints  the  little,  snowy  cloud 
Tliat  poises  on  the  highest  peak  of  all. 

O  Thou  art  beautiful ! — the  hills  are  bowed 

Beneath  Thee  ;  on  Thy  name  the  soft  winds  call — 

The  monstrous  ocean  trumpets  it  aloud. 
The  rain  and  snows  intone  it  as  they  fall. 


COBEUISK;  OR,  THE  COREY  OF  THE  WATER.         373 

III. 

Here  by  the  sunless  lake  there  is  no  air ; 

Yet  with  how  ceaseless  motion,  with  how  strange 

Flowing  and  fading,  do  the  high  mists  range 
The  gloomy  gorges  of  the  mountains  bare. 
Some  weary  breathing  never  ceases  there — 

The  ashen  peaks  can  feel  it  hour  by  hour  ; 

The  purple  depths  are  darkened  by  its  power ; 
A  soundless  breath,  a  trouble  all  things  share 
That  feel  it  come  and  go.    See  I  onward  swim 

The  ghostly  mists,  from  silent  land  to  land. 
From  gulf  to  gulf ;  now  the  whole  air  grows  dim — 

Like  living  men,  darkling  a  space,  they  stand. 
But  lo  !  a  sunbeam,  like  a  cherubim. 

Scatters  them  onward  like  a  flaming  brand 

IV. 

I  think  this  is  the  very  stillest  place 

On  all  God's  earth,  and  yet  no  rest  is  here. 
The  vapors  mirrored  in  the  black  loch's  face 

Drift  on  like  frantic  shapes  and  disappear  ; 

A  never-ceasing  murmur  in  mine  ear 
Tells  me  of  waters  wild  that  flow. 

There  is  no  rest  at  all  afar  or  near 
Only  a  sense  of  things  that  moan  and  go. 
And  lo !  the  still  small  life  these  limbs  contain 

I  feel  flows  on  like  those,  restless  and  proud ; 
Before  that  breathing  naught  within  my  brain 

Pauses,  but  all  drifts  on  like  mist  and  cloud  ; 
Only  the  bald  peaks  and  the  stones  remain. 

Frozen  before  Thee,  desolate  and  bowed. 


And  whither,  O  ye  vapors,  do  ye  wend  ? 

Stirred  by  that  weary  breathing,  whither  away  ? 

And  whither,  O  ye  dreams  that  night  and  day 
Drift  o'er  the  troublous  life,  tremble,  and  blend 
To  broken  lineaments  of  that  far  Friend, 

Whose  strange  breath's  come  and  go  ye  feel  so  deep  ? 


374  THE   LAND   OF   LOENE. 

O  soul  that  has  no  rest  and  seekest  sleep, 
WTiither  ?  and  will  thy  wanderings  ever  end  ? 
All  things  tliat  be  are  full  of  a  quick  pain  ; 

Onward  we  fleet,  swift  as  the  running  rill ; 
The  vapors  drift,  the  mists  within  the  brain 

Float  on  obscuringly,  and  have  no  will ; 
Only  the  bare  peaks  and  tlie  stones  remain  ; 

These  only — and  a  God,  sublime  and  still.* 

The  light  died  off  the  peaks,  the  vapors  darkened, 
and  the  cold  chill  of  the  night  crept  into  the  air. 
Then  suddenly,  without  a  ray  of  warning,  the  moon 
swept  up  out  of  the  east — huge  as  a  shield,  yellow  as 
a  water-lily,  more  luminous  than  any  gold.  It  want- 
ed but  the  moon  to  complete  the  spell.  The  dim 
light  scarcely  penetrated  into  the  corry,  save  where 
a  deep  streak  of  silver  shadow  broke  the  blackness  of 
the  lake.  The  walls  of  the  hollow  grew  pitch  dark, 
though  the  peaks  were  faintly  lit.  The  vapors  gath- 
ered in  the  hollow  interstices  of  gloom.  Kow,  where 
all  had  been  stillness,  mysterious  noises  grew — wild 
voices,  whispers,  murmurs,  infinite  ululations. 

"  Vero  e,  che'  n  su  la  proda  mi  trovai 
Delia  valle  d'abisso  dolorosa, 
Che  tuono  accoglie  d'infiniti  guai ! " 

The  moan  of  tori'ents  was  audible,  the  mm'mur  of 
wind. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  chronicle  in  detail  the  ex- 
periences of  the  night.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  for 
many  a  long  hour  we  paced  about  the  ghostly  scene, 
and  then,  worn  out  and  wearied,  slipt  ourselves  into 

*  These  sonnets  have  already  appeared  as  a  portion  of  "  The 
Book  of  Orm :  a  Prelude  to  the  Epic." 


CORRTJISK;    OR,  THE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         375 

onr  covei-ings,  and  slept  as  8mip;ly  as  worms  in  their 
cocoons  nndcr  the  overlianging  eaves  of  the  mighty 
rock.  Py  this  time  tlie  yellow  moon,  after  burning 
her  way  through  the  gathering  vapors  and  reddening 
to  crimson  fire  at  the  edges,  had  disappeared  altogetlier, 
taking  with  her  all  the  stars;  but  the  summer  night 
still  preserved  a  dim,  dreary  light  in  the  very  heart  of 
shadows.  How  long  tlie  Wanderer  first  slept  he 
knows  not,  but  he  awakened  with  a  wild  start,  and 
found  all  the  vials  of  heaven  opening  and  pouring 
down  on  his  devoted  head.  The  darkness  was  full  of 
a  dull  roar — the  splashing  of  the  heavy  drops  on  solid 
stone,  the  moan  of  wind,  the  cry  of  torrents.  "  As  a 
hundred  hills  on  Morven ;  as  the  streams  of  a  hundred 
hills ;  as  clouds  fly  successive  over  heaven  ;  or  as  the 
dai'k  ocean  assaults  the  shore  of  the  desert ;  so  roaring, 
so  vast,  so  terrible,  the  armies  mixed  on  Lena's  echo- 
ins:  heath."* 


*  Or,  fis  translated  more  literally  by  tlie  Eev.  Mr.  Macpherson, 
of  Inveraray : 

"  As  a  hundred  winds  in  the  oak  of  Morven  ; 
As  a  hundred  streams  from  the  steep-sided  mountain  ; 
As  clouds  gathering  thick  and  black  ; 
As  the  great  ocean  pouring  on  the  shore. 
So  broad,  roaring,  dark,  and  fierce. 
Met  the  braves  a-fire,  on  Lena. 

The  shout  of  the  hosts  on  the  bones  of  the  mountains 
Was  a  torrent  in  a  night  of  storm 
When  bursts  the  clouds  on  gloomy  Cona, 
And  a  thousand  ghosts  are  shrieking  loud 
On  the  viewless  crooked  wind  of  the  cairns." 

OssiAjf's  Poems.    Fingal,  book  iii. 


370  THE   Lx\.ND   OF   LORNE. 

The  Cucliullins  were  busy  again  at  tlieir  old  pastime 
of   storm-brewing.      It   became   expedient  to   draw 
closer  under  the  shelter  of  the  boulder  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  buckets  of  water  dripping  over  tlie  eaves. 
This  done,  the  AVanderer  listened  drowsily  for  a  time 
to  the  wild  sounds  around  him,  and  then,  soothed  by 
their  monotony,  slept  again.     Happy  is  the  man  who 
can  sleep  anywhere,  on  shipboard,  in  the  saddle,  up  a 
tree,  on  the  top  of  Ben  Kevis,  and  under  all  circum- 
stances, in  all  weathers.     Something  of  this  virtue  had 
been  imparted  to  the  "Wanderer  by  his  wild  life  afloat ; 
and  he  still  carried  the  drowsy  spell  of  the  sea  with 
him,  mesmerizing  body  and   mind  to  slumber   any- 
where at  a  moment's  notice. 

"When  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  and  with  bodily 
sensations  akin  to  those  of  a  parboiled  lobster  gazed 
around  him,  it  was  daylight — a  dim,  doubtful,  rainy 
light,  but  still  the  light  of  day.  The  corry  was  one 
mass  of  gray  vapor,  hiding  everything  to  the  utmost 
peaks,  and  a  thin  "  smm-r"  of  rain  filled  all  the  doubt- 
ful air  above  the  loch.  Hamish  Shaw,  wreathed  up 
in  the  shape  of  the  letter  S,  was  breathing  stento- 
riously.  and  to  awaken  him  the  "Wanderer  tickled  his 
nose  with  a  spike  of  heather ;  whereat  he  opened 
his  eyes,  smiled  grimly,  and  at  once,  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  with  all  the  quickness  of  instinct, 
delivered  his  criticism  on  the  weather.  "  There'll  be 
rain  the  day,  and  a  breeze  ;  the  wind's  awa'  into  the 
southwest."  Then,  without  more  preamble,  he  jumped 
up,  rubbed  his  hands  through  his  matted  hair,  and 
surveyed  the  scene  about  him. 


CORRinSK;   OR,  TILE  CORRY  OF  THE  WATER.         377 

"  The  sun  had  opened  golden  yellow 

From  his  cas(i. 
Though  still  the  sky  wore  dark  and  drumly 

A  scarred  and  frowning  face  ; 
Then  troubled,  tawny,  dense,  dun-bellied. 

Scowling,  and  sea-blue ; 
Every  dye  that's  in  the  tartan 

O'er  it  grew. 
Far  away  to  the  wild  westward 

Grim  it  lowered, 
Wliere  rain-charged  clouds  on  thick  squalls  wandering 

Loomed  and  towered."  * 

With  a  grim  shake  of  the  head,  Ilamish  got  out 
spirit-lamp,  kitchener,  etc.,  and  proceeded  to  make 
breakfast.  Meantime,  the  Wanderer  threaded  his 
way  to  the  water's  edge,  and  divesting  himself  of  his 
hot,  uncomfortable  clothing,  plunged  in  for  a  swim. 
A  dozen  strokes  were  enough ;  for  the  black  deeps 
filled  one  with  an  eerie  shudder,  and  the  vapors  hung 
cold  and  dreadful  overhead.  Dripping  like  a  naiad, 
the  Wanderer  got  into  his  clothes,  and  rushed  about 
wildly  to  restore  the  circulation.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterward,  he  breakfasted  royally  on  bread  and 
cold  meat,  with  a  tumbler  of  spirits  and  water — in 
all  of  which  he  was  gladly  joined  by  the  faithful 
Hamish.  Breakfast  over,  the  twain  made  their  de- 
vious way  down  the  corry,  pausing  ever  and  anon  to 
contemplate  the  stormy  scene  behind  them. 

A  high  wind  in  sharp  squalls  was  blowing  mist  and 
cloud  from  the  sea ;  steadily  and  swiftly  the  vapor 
drifted  along,  %vith  interstices  dimly  luminous,  from 
the  southwest ;  but  directly  they  reached  the  unseen 

*  The  "  Birlinn."    By  Alastair  Mac  Mhaigstair  Alastair. 


378  THE   LAND   OF   LOENE. 

lieiglits,  tlicy  seemed  to  pause  altogether,  and  add  to 
tlie  motionless  darkness.  Below  that  darkness  a  gray 
reflected  light — not  light,  but  rather  darkness  visible — 
moved  along  the  precipices  of  stone,  save  vrhere 
mists  streamed  from  the  abyss,  or  the  silver  threads 
of  cataracts  flashed, 

"  Motionless  as  ice. 
Frozen  by  distance." 

Wild,  unearthly  noises,  strange  as  the  shriek  of  the 
water-kelpie,  issued  from  the  abysse§.  The  black 
lake  was  broken  into  small,  sharp  waves,  crested  with 
foam  of  dazzling  whiteness,  contrasted  with  which 
the  black  furrows  between  seemed  blacker  and  blacker ; 
and  over  the  waves  here  and  there  the  gulls  were 
screaming.  The  mighty  rocks  through  which  we 
wended  diffused  into  the  air  a  cold,  white  steam,  while, 
smitteii  by  the  silver-glistering  rain,  their  furrowed 
cheeks  drip  wildly ;  at  the  base  of  each  glimmered 
a  pool ;  and  everywhere  around  them  the  swollen 
runlets  leapt  noisily  to  mingle  with  the  mere.  The 
corry,  indeed,  was  silent  no  more;  but  the  only 
sound  within  it  was  the  murmur  of  its  own  weeping. 
As  we  walked  onward,  looming  gray  in  the  mist, 
we  suddenly  became  conscious  of  a  iigure  standing  at 
some  little  distance  from  us — the  wild  figure  of  a  man 
clad  in  pilot  trousers  and  a  yellow  oilskin  coat,  bare- 
headed, his  matted  locks  hanging  over  his  shoulders, 
his  beard  dripping  with  rain,  his  eyes  with  a  look  of 
frenzy  glaring  at  us  as  we  approached.  Our  first 
impulse  was  one  of  fear — there  was  something  un- 
eailhly  in  this  apparition  ;  but  we  advanced  rapidly, 


OORRUISK;   OR,  THE  COllRY  OF  THE  WATER.         379 

anxious  to  examine  it  more  closely.  To  our  astonish- 
ment the  man,  instead  of  inviting  scrutiny,  assumed 
a  look  of  intense  terror,  and  without  a  word  of  warn- 
ing took  to  his  heels.  Anxious  to  reassure  him,  we 
followed  as  rapidly  as  possible,  Ilamish  shouting 
loudly  in  Gaelic;  but  the  sound  of  footsteps  behind 
liiii  and  Ilamish's  voice,  which  the  wind  turned  to  a 
dismal  moan,  only  made  the  man  fly  faster,  never 
once  casting  a  look  backward,  but  scrambling  along 
the  perilous  slopes  as  if  all  the  fiends  were  at  his 
heels,  until  the  rainy  mist  blotted  him  altogether 
from  our  view.  Hamish  and  the  Wanderer  looked  at 
each  other  and  laughed;  it  was  rather  a  comical 
situation — man-chasing  in  the  gorges  of  Corruisk. 

"  "Who  do  you  think  he  is  ?"  said  the  Wanderer ; 
"  a  man  like  ourselves,  or  a  ghost  ?" 

"  Flesh  and  blood,  sure  enough,"  replied  Ilamish, 
with  a  sly  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  I'm  tliinking  there 
will  be  a  boat  o'  some  sort  down  in  the  harbor  yon- 
der, and  this  is  one  of  the  crew.  Eh !  but  he  seemed 
awfu'  scared;  nae  doubt  he  thought  us  something 
uncanny,  coming  on  him  sae  sudden  in  a  place  like 
this." 

Wet  and  dripping,  we  reach  the  lower  end  of 
the  loch,  and  after  one  glance  backward  at  the 
corry,  which  seems  buried  in  the  deepest  gloom  of 
night,  follow  the  course  of  the  river,  which  runs 
foamino;  over  a  sheet  of  smooth  rock  into  Loch 
Scavaig,  that  wonderful  arm  of  the  sea.  The  rocks 
here  have  the  smoothed  and  swelling  forms  known 
as  roches  vxcndonnees ,  and,  as  Professor  Forbes  ob- 
serves, "  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  find  in  the 


380  THE   LAND    OF    LORNE. 

Alps  or  elsewhere  these  phenomena  (excepting  oi^ly 
the  high  polish,  which  the  rocks  here  do  not  admit 
of)  in  greater  perfection  than  in  the  valley  of  Cor- 
ruisk."  The  distance  from  the  fresh-wator  loch  to 
the  salt  water  is  little  more  than  two  hundred  yards ; 
and  where  the  river  joins  the  latter  there  is  a  dead- 
calm  basin,  enclosed  seaward  by  promontories  and 
islands,  and  perpetually  sheltered  from  all  the 
winds  that  blow.  There  is  no  snugger  anchorage 
in  the  world  than  this.  Shut  in  on  every  side  by 
precipices  that  tower  far  above  the  mast,  with  no 
view  but  the  bare  loch  landward  or  seaward,  it  is 
like  a  small  mere,  deep  and  green,  in  the  hollow  of 
the  mountains.  In  the  rocks  at  either  side  there 
are  rings,  to  which  any  vessel  at  anchor  in  the  basin 
may  attach  itself ;  for,  though  the  place  is  sheltered 
from  the  full  force  of  the  wind,  the  squalls  are  terrific- 
ally sharp,  and  a  warp  is  necessary,  as  there  is  no 
room  to  "  swing." 

And  here,  standing  on  the  rock  at  the  water's 
edge,  we  saw  a  small  group  of  men,  five  in  numl)er, 
chief  of  whom  was  the  fugitive  from  Corruisk.  The 
latter,  with  excited  gestures  and  flaming  eyes,  pointed 
to  us  as  we  approached,  and  all  eyed  us  in  grim  and 
ominous  silence.  Fastened  to  the  rock  on  which 
they  stood  was  a  skiff,  one  of  those  huge,  shapeless 
fishing  skiffs  in  which  Highlanders  delight,  black 
and  slimy  with  seaweed,  with  red  nets  heaped  in 
the  bottom,  and  a  dog-fish — seemingly  the  only  prod- 
uce of  a  night's  fishing — still  gasj^ng,  with  his 
liver  cut  out,  in  the  bow.  No  sooner  did  Shaw  get 
within  earshot  than  he  attacked  the  strangers  with  a 


CORRUISK;   OU,  THE  CORRY  OP  THE  WATER.         381 

sharp  fire  in  Gaelic.  After  listening  staggered  for 
a  moment,  tliey  opened  on  him  like  a  pack  of 
hounds  in  full  cry ;  and  it  was  soon  apparent  that 
the  man  we  had  met  hy  the  loch  had  taken  us  for  a 
couple  of  ghosts  prowling  about  in  the  dim,  myste- 
rious light  of  the  early  morning.  The  men  were 
fishers  from  Loch  Slapin,  whither  they  were  on  the 
point  of  returning ;  and  we  proposed  that  they  should 
row  us  round  by  the  sea  to  Camasunary,  nine  miles' 
■walk  through  the  great  glen  from  Sligachan  Inn.  A 
bargain  being  struck,  we  were  soon  dancing  on  the 
wild  waters  of  Loch  Scavaig,  and  taking  our  farewell 
view  of  the  Cuchullins. 

Landing  at  Camasunary,  we  plodded  weary  home- 
ward, so  full  of  wonders,  so  awed  and  abstracted  with 
all  we  had  seen,  that  we  scarcely  looked  at  the  wild 
gorges  through  which  we  passed.  The  brain  was 
quite  full,  and  could  receive  no  more.  Tired  to 
death,  we  at  last  reached  the  Tetm^  after  a  walk  that 
seemed  interminable.  For  many  days  after  that  it  was 
impossible  to  recollect  in  detail  any  picture  we  had 
seen.  All  was  confusion — darkness,  rain,  mist. 
When  the  vision  cleared,  and  the  perfect  memory 
of  CoiTuisk  arose  in  the  mind,  it  seemed  only  a  vivid 
dream,  strange  and  beautiful  beyond  all  pictures  seen 
with  the  waking  eyes,  a  reminiscence  from  some  for- 
gotten life,  a  vision  to  be  blent  forever  with  the  most 
secret  apprehensions  of  the  soul — sleep,  death,  obliv- 
ion, eternity,  and  the  grave. 


882  THE  LAND   OF   LOBNE. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

EPILOGUE  ;    THE  "  TEKn's  "  LAST  FLIGHT. 

It  was  now  growing  late  in  the  year,  and  we  were 
yearning  to   return   again  to   the  moors   of  Lome. 
Quitting  Loch  Sligachan,  we  ran  through  the  Sound 
of  Scalpa,  past  Broad  ford   Bay  and  Pabbay  Island, 
through  the  narrow  passage  of  Kyle  Akin,  and  so  on 
through  KyleEheato  Isle  Ornsay,  where  we  anchored. 
Page  after  page  might  be  filled  \\'ith  tlie  exquisite  pic- 
tures seen  on  the  way  througli  these  island  channels. 
At  Isle  Ornsay  we  were  detained  for  nearly  a  fort- 
night by  a  fearful  gale  of  wind,  and  occui^ied  the  time 
in  fishing  for  "  cuddies  "  over  the  vessel's  side,  rowing 
about  in  the  punt,  and  reading  Bjurnson's  great  vik- 
ing-drama in  the  tiny  cabin.     Beguiled  by  a  treacher- 
ous peep  of  fine  weather,  we  slipt  out  into  the  Sound 
of  Sleat,  intending  to  sail  roimd  Ardnamurchan  ;  but 
the  heavy  sea  soon  compelled  us  to  take  shelter  in 
Loch  Xevis.     After  spending  a  black  day  at  the  last- 
named  anchorage,  we  set  sail  again,  and  encountered 
a  nasty  wind  from  the  southwest.     The  little  Tern 
got  as  severe  a  bufi:eting  on  that  occasion  as  a  craft  of 
the  sort  could  well  weather ;  and  only  by  the  skilled 


MFILOGUE ;  THE  TERN'S  LAST  FLIGHT.  383 

Beamansbip  of  Ilamish  Shaw  did  we  manao;e  to  reach 
our  old  anchorage  in  Rum  before  the  gale  burst  in  all 
its  fury.  The  weather  was  now  thoroughly  broken. 
"We  were  detained  several  days  in  Loch  Scresort,  fear- 
ing to  face  the  great  seas  of  the  Atlantic  in  passing 
round  the  Rhu.  A  good  day  came  at  last.  "VVe  had 
as  pleasant  a  sail  through  the  oj)en  sea  as  could  well 
be  desired.  On  the  night  of  the  following  day  the 
Tern  was  at  her  moorings  in  Oban  Bay,  and  we  en- 
joyed, for  the  first  time  after  many  months,  the  lux- 
ury of  a  snug  bed  ashore,  in  the  White  House  on  the 
Hill. 

Never  had  the  seasons  been  more  delightfully  spent. 
We  had  enjoyed  sport  and  adventure  to  the  full,  we 
had  drunk  into  our  veins  the  fresh  sense  of  renewed 
physical  life,  and  we  had  enriched  the  soul  with  a  set 
of  picturesque  memories  of  inestimable  brightness  and 
beauty.      Possibly  no  such  novel  experience   could 
have  been  gained  by  rambling  half  round  the  civilized 
world  in  search  of  the  beautiful.    "  How  little  do  men 
know,"  we  repeated,  "  of  the  wonders  lying  at  their 
own  thresholds !  "     Within  two  days'  journey  of  the 
Great  City  lie  these  Hebrides,  comparatively  unknown, 
yet  abounding  in  shapes  of  beauty  and  forms  of  life  as 
fresh  and  new  as  those  met  with  in  the  remotest  is- 
lands of  the  Pacific.      To  the  patient  reader  of  our 
travels  afloat  and  ashore  we  have  only  one  advice  to 
give  in  conclusion :     "  Go  and  do  likewise  ;  and,  until 
you  have  explored  the  isles  of  the  north  in  such  a  ves- 
sel as  carried  us  so  bravely  and  for  so  long,  do  not 
think  that  you  have  exhausted  travel,  or  that  Provi- 


384  THE   LAND   OF   LOKNE. 

dence,  even  in  the  narrow  limits  of  these  British 
Islands  of  which  you  know  so  little,  cannot  supply 
your  jaded  humanity  with  a  new  sensation ! " 

IBM  £ND. 


w 

J -9  ^.f 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


Series  9482 


l&J^'^^'^f'.n- 


000  271"-'-" '"""""" 


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